Playing music coming from my soul, taking this mind into
interior depths of heaven, where solace can continue
through the suffering of life with some comfort at least
through writing.
Composing endless beauty, enveloping a soul forever,
growing blossoms, creating their essence from a passion
held tightly within.
There's nothing interfering with thought as they jump and
flow from every pen I've ever held within my hands.
Comfortably existing in the interior of intellect's wisdom
and forming an interior in life, calling to mind, the
everlasting memories of yesterday's future.
As it is happening right this instance on photographic
screens of absolute silence and opening up the interior
places of imagination so I can write.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem