Sitting atop the westernized
version of Haleakala,
my own Molokini;
staring at my feet and
the following abyss.
a road going nowhere.
wisps of elder hair amongst
a blue face,
pulling at my lips
enveloped by the bliss
life to the left, the right,
in front and behind.
a preferred isolation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great writing. Great title. I could feel myself there also (smile) .