Screeching loudly, finding a voice in music,
living it's sound.
Finding it's life full and overjoying, banging,
pounding, incessantly attempting to penetrate
a mind's inner ear.
However long it takes, puzzles must be put
together a piece at a time to create a rhythm.
There is no mass manipulation, one at a time
can only be seen and worked with.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem