A particular reader,
Unaware of sequels,
No longer relishes
In self-manifested
Illusions of entrapment.
Chosen inevitability,
But still undecided,
He grows with his inhales,
Opting for the absence
Within Salvation...
Relicless, but not reckless
He morphs into The View -
The ever changing truth! ...
I press against the door-way,
A ribbon, chambers of gold....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem