when the light hit the wire,
the wire became a fist.
when the wire became a fist,
the wire had to go.
when the wire had to go,
the fist lost its grip.
when the fist lost its grip,
the grip lost its soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
DAVID...QUITE IMMAGINATIVE...YOUR MIND IS IN PERPETUAL PROCESSING MODE FOR UNIQUE VERBAGE....TIGHT MIND=TIGHT WORK=10!