Mysterious depths of intellect, arouse signs of
intelligence, coming awake and listening for the
clues.
Figuring out it's definitive mysteries, not
wanting to be kept out of their environments so
they can be written out.
Being curious every day, stretching a mind,
allowing it to encompass all clues, then reaching
for cognitive abstractions to be written about
with somber realizations in prose.
Nothing ever keeping off to the side of life,
because it has to always be in depths of thought,
as self contemplates what life is about.
Never failing to come up with phases and beauty of
extravagant thoughts regarding the mysteriousness
of it's self.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem