stars are eaten by the morning sun,
we breeze through this life
then look back and regret what weve not done
slaves to the clock
awaiting ur turn to hear death knock
constricted in time
unable to express concern
trapped in the box of a mime
yet humanity holds the key,
to break the shackles and run free
as time runs upon a table
we dictate our own destiny
and shall be restricted by nothing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
always for a philosophical title, Ray