During late nights, falling deeply into a stupor as I write of yesterday's memories.
Living on an edge of life, never knowing where I'll land or end up.
Charging every image, illuminating pictures, standing alone, awaiting another place in an original poem.
Taking me into labyrinths and abysses of subconscious lengths and depths, giving an envelope of experience to choose scenic virtues left in pastures of lightening beauty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem