The branch upholds the leaves, as your mind upheld whispers
on the page, white nothingness, until words scrawled from
your ever-supply of calligraphy pens...poetry appeared....
thrown on the floor in angst, picked up in revision....
Do you write when winds blow whispers to God....
Do you consider revision a suitable offering....
bloody and bloodless....your life on the page....
Do you no longer wish to travel to Moria....
Tasking the firey beast with roses of truths,
petaled on walls of your mind....the white knight
giant, tilting windmills, tilting hell, heaven....
earthbound strider of wilderness images....
Come back to the world.
Come back to us.
Come back.
I beg.
I beg.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I think he saw this one and gave up knowing he could never compete with this. Really enjoyed this, goes into my favs forever..(smile)