Didn’t the prosody present a paradox,
Our voices in voiceless meter,
Our perceived ideal deceived.
Ashes in the lamp that was glowing?
Didn’t the sense seem fleeting
And it was only ever our feeling
For the heartbeat of correspondence,
The lived thing on a dead page?
After attending to externals
We began with inner sense.
Counting every measure
We saw clearer to the center.
We placed a shadow on a shore
Of eternal whisperings,
And drew a line in our minds
Like the footsteps of Ozymandias…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A well written poem with a great message.....10+++ Please read my new poem THE OPTIMISTIC RIGHTEOUSNESS. Thanks.....