Silent sounds of a harmonica, playing in the background, a
saddened solo journey down trails of sorrow.
Capturing the essence of life, allowing it the freedom that
others never want to have.
Neglecting others for truths sitting aside, waiting for the
times of living to coincide with death.
Writing always of the two of them incessantly, down roads
of life.
Behaving in vast deserts of independent thought and allowing
no confrontation to deter my mind at work doing it's purpose
as I live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem