Poems...

Ashen Light.

At the last horizon, where blackness reigns supreme,
A dream, like a beast, convulses and howls in solitude.
Its body, covered in spots of bleeding, festering wounds,
Twists like a cursed serpent, devouring its own form.

The symbol of death burns in the heights, scattering stars from the heavens.
And innocent souls march to a greedy pyre to perish.

Sometimes, in the dust-covered wasteland, amidst the cawing of ravens,
Like a mournful echo of summer, the lament of a frozen nightingale sounds.
And dying like a withered leaf, falling onto the white snow,
It scatters in black flakes, the primordial, great sin.

And in the despair of this eternity, scattering stars from the heavens,
A hail of steel falls to earth, a Christian, bloody cross.
Subjugating the green grasses and fragrant flowers of the earth,
Clad in the robes of monasticism, for more than a thousand terrible ages.

It brings with it eternal doom to all who fall under the shadow of emptiness,
Making sacred feelings a sin, staining the face of earthly beauty.
Distributing pain and sorrow everywhere, falling like a playing bird,
Onto the grass, where fireweed blooms, where once there was good life.

Whoever listened to Him is saved, whoever believed in Him is a saint,
But why do their souls not find peace in the heavens?