recollections of who we were
floating against the wall
of nostalgia
dust motes dancing
in the late after noon
golden orange rays
of reminiscence
throwing this room
into darkness and
memories of
half-remembered pains
seemingly emptying our souls
to bare crags of cynicism
littered with
the flotsam and jetsam
of disillusionment
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
so very sad.....but surely the dust will clear?