Poems are such unruly creatures
that weep in the dark
without understanding thier own grief.
they tear through the barbed wire fences
picketed around wounded hearts
while baying at the moon
like lonely wolves crying out
to what's just beyond
the furthest mountains...
waiting, ever waiting,
for answers, that never come.
only the clouds respond,
with silence.
taking the moon
the wolves, and the crying words
away.
all that remains
are the creatures themselves,
weeping through the dark; looking
for the edge of the universe.
A great poem, we will all find what we are looking for one day.
Looking for the edge of the universe Looking, looking, looking will some of us ever find it.? I certainly hope so good stuff makes one think
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'weeping through the dark'... a poem in itself!