"I await a guardian." Shrouded forms who wrench and weave the hidden things I can't percieve, into twisted thoughts of rage and woe which drag me through the flames below. "I await a guardian." Bony fingers who clench. Macabre lips who **** to kiss. Weapons of hunger, instruments of fear... "I await a guardian." Joy becomes a distant memory, replaced with bells that clang and roar. The light has passed the spectrum, fading to a shade of emptiness. Kneeling in the dirt with hands across my face; demons mistlike in their flight embrace my sorrow, their sweet delight. "I await a guardian." All I need, is hopelessly gone. All I need is hope... gone. All I need is hope. All I need... hope. I need hope. ...hope. HOPE. What brightness in brilliance through such confines of the black. Shadows cannot hide when you shine like the sun. The brazen bells have silenced and the mist is all but clear, scattered in the lucent are abandoned tools of fear. "I await a guardian?"** I have become the guardian.
For those of you who care to look... There may be mlre to this poem than you think.
I ask you. What does "I await a guardian" say when translated to latin?