Twilight dips below the hills, the stars rise, strewn;
Down the highway a diesel bellows its air horn,
Off to the east an angry owl screams at the moon.
Musing about life on Mars and thinking about morn.
There must be life and thinking beyond the walls of earth,
Else we devolve into interstellar arrogance, universal vanity,
As if we do not acquire these traits and more in plenty at birth,
Diving head first into the stream of life, the center lane of sanity.
But somewhere between birth and the looming dark night,
Somewhere between the cradle and formal schooling’s rote,
Between hot rods and girls; women and homes, quiet, polite
Suffering, hidden behind guarded walls of lies, painful blue note.
Everybody plays the monster sometimes, everyone is a victim,
So it is written in the stars; scribed in ancient stones, a dictum.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice sonnet. It gives you something to think about. Thanks.
Thank you! Doug