Straightening arrows of thought as they are being shot
from brain cells into the circumference of intellect.
Watching sparks grow into flowering fireworks of ideal
thoughts.
Peaceful ones flowing evenly like a still river of
imagination, beautiful in it's depths.
Shimmering in another horizon, awaiting attention on
shores of hesitant repertoires.
Listening carefully as each word is spoken in whispers
of ice cold atmospheres of innate talent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem