as my lips capture the whole taste, my
heart murmur the deleted past
of where the echo resounded with hope that
makes of what is today's decision
eagerness waits no regrets, even
the pool is fully grown of
spoon; the mean remain the same, a done
than gone in the race
the speed winged the wind,
the further it goes the lower it brings;
that's the tempted emotional distress of
destruction, whistle the tag
pull me back down to the level of the
clouds, for whatever touches the feather
it lunches the wings to speed and surf the wind
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem