Voice in the Mirrors #82944
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A voice in the mirrors. Poem by Jóhann Hjálmarsson.
To Ragnheiður in September
It's getting dark, night is coming,
she hasn't quite arrived.
We are here and growing old,
we are middle-aged, young.
We are born
and we die.
Nothing will happen.
except for shadow
and the twilight will envelop us,
take us into their arms.
We get lost in the twilight,
in everything that resembles us.
To Ragnheiður in September
It's getting dark, night is coming,
she hasn't quite arrived.
We are here and growing old,
we are middle-aged, young.
We are born
and we die.
Nothing will happen.
except for shadow
and the twilight will envelop us,
take us into their arms.
We get lost in the twilight,
in everything that resembles us.