It seems as if new and old are mismatching seams,
that derive the same tapestry.
Familiar names and heartaches swim through my eyes.
My soul seems an astral ocean, fate posed as fairy
stirring the streams with a song of memory.
Torn between the stars, the pieces of my heart,
and tears that eminate what is, was, or may be, of life
Silky caresses of dreams strum the harp to form her song
It falls upon silence, of people come and gone
Like the summer grass licking every last dropp of dew,
before the sun drys it away.
As if it were a prayer that reality may not take
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Splendid imagery. Simply adore your line, 'stirring the streams with a song of memory'. And last line's nice & strong, rewarding. kudos! !