The sky is overflowing
with dysfunctional messiahs.
They are young.
They have the eyes of boys
and the hearts of kings.
They are trapped by
a ruthless aching for
brigher lights, greater warmth,
life more holy and free.
Tomorrow tehy will realize
time grows the way
we want it to, and that
all anyone ever searches for
is a place where love is possible.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem