Onward men of faith
push forward through the mirror
past the gate.
No myriad of words can they pronounce
but stumble on the well worn stones
set by others in their way
Art thou my face when see by all
and bared each line no ink nor Quill
can from you take away.
Opened up the gate such is the likes
the never ending flood that comes
some few have left that way.
As the faith of men and women to
when measured,
in the shallow depths
that keeps what comes their way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem