I am casting runes now.
Trying to make up for
the moon's cold shoulder.
Refusing to be called down
was the giddy limit for me.
Supposed to be a last straw
it left me in complete darkness.
There must be sense here but
I can't see it despite fine tuning.
All I know is that I am left here
weighing the relative value of
snake oils while your essence
drips away without explanation.
Tony Noon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem