It is like the Spirit of Life gets entangled
in a universal bacterial web; a soil; an earth.
In other words, it is betaken by a virus; a dirt,
and it must work its way out
by a higher calling it must believe
in a beauty beyond the senses.
It must believe in a timeless existence
beyond the prison of time.
It must believe in the beauty of a deeper unseen self.
One devoid of the diseased flesh and bone.
This is the only way the light will make its way home.
copyright by Mark Anthony St. Rose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem