Hi everyone, 

this post  will be short as I'm feeling quite tired after working like a madman all day.

It's a translation of an old poem of mine about... something related to a madman or whatever. 

Have a read:

<center>https://c2.staticflickr.com/8/7096/7272846614_cdf415c8ab_b.jpg <a href = "https://c2.staticflickr.com/8/7096/7272846614_cdf415c8ab_b.jpg">Source</a> </center>

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A GOLD MOUNTAIN 

Get the eyes of the keen madman moving, 
he’s a long sleepless night 

His fingers dial a dreadfully young rheumatism,
he’s moments of desire and despair 

Ups and downs he counts as even numbers,
he’s an odd number of precious metals 

He’s a mountain bathed in sunset gold – 
shower him with shadows cast by clouds

He’s a bunch of red stones stacked high – 
his shirt is tied and tie-dyed like Mars

He’s an empty cottage soaking in sun – 
moons and stars may also factor in

Get the heart of the keen madman pumping, 
he’s a king of yellow in yellow

His eyes falter behind a nearsightedness in sprint,
his are the bruised rhymes, shins 

Words and verses are curds of curses,  
he’s all that you never wrote down

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How you *you* see this poem?

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