We collided at first dawn
In passions fire
Crumbling
In fevered pitch
Touching the
Morning
With ashen fingers
Stoic faced
With New Realities
Upon the canvas
Sunrise always brings
Bounties of pastels
Tempered in the
Magical-fired Orb's
Sizzling glow
Enraptured and
Ready for capture
Before Noon's
Too heavy handed
Sweeping up blow
Left just the two
Of us
Collected with no
Place to go
Is this indeed the
Anti-climax?
To the surges of
Last times lust?
Lured into our
Situation this moment
As our once young
Bodies begin to rust!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem