I can't be what I think I could have been
Nor scrape up parts for life to breathe its sum,
Surrendering desires as too obscene
Benign and safe in obese days to come.
Passion for love and flesh and beauty rang
Against wilted blooms and years stripped of youth,
Routine and its trials and drudgery sprang,
And tenderness replaced fiction with truth.
Hearts grew harder with forgiveness estranged,
Familiarity tempered quickness
To judge, dismissing potential to change,
Ignorant of each life coursed within us.
Sojourn and years are so soon complete, may
The threads of sum given, line each tired seat.
21/1/2015
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem