This is a translation of one poem I have written probably two-or-three years ago. I just found the poem from one of my old notebooks, and I thought that maybe I should put some older poetry here as well as new ones. So, here's the translation of what I have written when I still was young and foolish (or at least either one of them, not sure which one, though...)!

Roses of Death

”Evening and shining moon

Only light inside the empty mirror

One single ripple running over the lake

So alone, so silently

Running far away over those waters unknown

I hear an eerie sound

Maybe wind, maybe a bird

But it does not matter

The moon travels slowly her eternal path

Like a silver coin amidst the golden dust of the stars

And again I hear that sound

It’s distant and silent

But still it is calling me…

---

Soon I opened my eyes

Didn’t know if it was night or day

I stood up to greet the winds

And as I looked around

I saw my dreams they had faded

And still I heard the sound

And now I did not listen

---

I know where the most beautiful flowers grow

And those flowers are not meant to be picked up

They stand on the other side of the river at the edge of the Underworld

They grow on the lands of the hereafter

The hand of Death never can touch them

For they are part of that hand themselves

Warm wind shall never blow over those flowers

And they will never lean towards the sun

For they are the roses of Death himself

---

More black than the sky at midnight

More white than the whitest snow

More red than blood flowing from a wound

Lighter than candlelight in the darkness

And darker than the bottom of my soul

All of that are the roses of Death

The roses that no mortal hand has ever touched

---

And it all used to be mine

Eternity…

And the silent song at the hills in the night.”

(By: Wyrd)