Time marches past all turmoil, sorrow and joy, we have no
control over how fast or slow it may choose to go.
Slipping across the universe, taking everything out to
space, just so it can provide a semblance of an existence.
Notorious for taking people into death's realms, never
giving anyone a choice in the matter.
Falling at last beneath ancient catacombs of inner minds,
leaving us all bereft in the end, alone at last, just the
way we entered life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem