Gothic

When the day draws to an end
and the golden sphere begins its run down the slope
then theres always someone around
who just sits and enjoys the divine beauty

Someone sitting under some tree somewhere,
on a grave, with a red rose in their mouth
and silver chains hanging from their neck
in a dress with a torn edge
or in a black suit with blood stains

Decorared with words and feelings,
he throws the rose onto that grave
onto the soft dark green moss
and continues his own road
through fall, through death

No loss of thought
no fusing of mind and heart
there will be no soup with which to drag him to his grave
for he has already been through it all

White lace, covered in mud
Is all that is left of her
and also the matches, meant for her
did she burn 'em all
and none were left for her cigarettes

And also the wine, given to her
was left at the burial site
where one of poor mental health had found it
emptied it, and left it where it was found
since that's what a beggar's like

And a beggar's our hero(sp?)
Whose deeds are not written,
not in mind, not in memory, not in word.
We wont find them at the bottom of the bottle
For the never existed
and never will.

After reading the first stanza I actually thought I'd like it.
but then i continued reading and all i found was cliché in all sorts of different shapes and sizes.
Experiment with metaphores a bit, you'll like it. This way it's just all too predictable.
The last stanza was good too.

i translated it from the original language, thats why it ended up this way...i tried writing something similar to what i used to, but i guess i now know why i dont write that way anymore XD
But you're right.

Tasteful and Sublime:

i translated it from the original language, thats why it ended up this way...i tried writing something similar to what i used to, but i guess i now know why i dont write that way anymore XD
But you're right.

see, that's why i just write in english straigt away, and not in my mother tongue.

*laughs* i write mostly in english too, quite seldom in estonian.
Translating is one thing. Sometimes the piece you're trying to translate loses its value/meaning once you translate it, i guess this is what we see here. I dont find writing in estonian harder than in english, i know both, but its just the translating