My Final Worth Poem by Michael Walkerjohn
My Final Worth
The winds
I cannot hear.
Their breath upon
my face wanes, as each
evening's twilight dims.
The youth of my love
is in loss of its
devotion, slowly
drifting away from the
depths of my heart; and
shorn from the brightness
of my soul. Upon, the last
page of my spirit's life, over
the playful demiurge each
one surrenders to; I do
so present to all
my final worth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 11:15:40 AM # 1.0.0.1119
