the legs of walking men have been
bruised by the feeds of sin
seen to the means of being
closer to their seeds of sin
they have never seen
nor bring
to the minds of their thoughtless keen,
yet their failure has been
so mean
to the eyes of their need and lean
to urge their seed of sin
a meal to their tongues they feed,
the works of their sin
blew away their wind
and washed away their wish,
the lines between their toes were seen
crying loudly not to walk in sin
but their seeds proudly walked a sin,
and their roses yawned to feel
their vivid memories of sin
to each pollinated being,
their saint of darkness
descended his journey of far-less
to the descendants of sin
to bring
sadness
to the hearts of many seeds of sin
in their thoughtless
disciples of heartless keen,
yet their sheepish faces
have sickened all seeds with lunatic ages
with all matters of life
and soul narrowly escaping their cages.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
with all matters of life, good one. I invite you to read my poems and comment.