This world is too real;
So slow down this ride,
I'm on the third rail-
The outgoing tide.
My fingers trace magic,
My mind’s like a sail;
Must endings be the tragic
Magnum Opus fail?
Where's the book of life,
Elixir to living,
Ending to strife,
Counterpoint of striving?
If the grave's not the end
Of the time we unravel,
Is death the sole friend
Upon more lonely travels?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Superbly intriguing poem. I love the context, the thought and the movement, so very good.