пьет, как храмовник, ругается тоже, а в остальном они вовсе непохожи ©
Выношу из комментариев в ВК: прекрасный Дэль перевел мое вчерашнее стихотворение. И получилось очень, очень классно, хотя, пожалуй, заметно про другое.
*
We all were trained to always keep the face,
From our first scream until amazing grace,
But something's hatching deep inside the shrouds,
It's closer than the mask, right at skin,
So deep, that I don't know, where to begin.
And how to stop what shoots into the clouds.
I'm opening my face into the moon.
All that remains of me 's in gauzy swoon,
The armor's lying at my feet, neglected.
And wind goes through in the ribs and through the rest.
Amazing, just how much fits in the chest,
That's open to the sky and not protected.
But time shall come, it's always lurking there,
The foul breath of war is in the air,
The inky night condensed into a blot.
We're both left guessing which one will betray.
A tiny star is right above the bay,
It bounces, it might fall... but it would not.
*
We all were trained to always keep the face,
From our first scream until amazing grace,
But something's hatching deep inside the shrouds,
It's closer than the mask, right at skin,
So deep, that I don't know, where to begin.
And how to stop what shoots into the clouds.
I'm opening my face into the moon.
All that remains of me 's in gauzy swoon,
The armor's lying at my feet, neglected.
And wind goes through in the ribs and through the rest.
Amazing, just how much fits in the chest,
That's open to the sky and not protected.
But time shall come, it's always lurking there,
The foul breath of war is in the air,
The inky night condensed into a blot.
We're both left guessing which one will betray.
A tiny star is right above the bay,
It bounces, it might fall... but it would not.