Silently waiting for a new ending to be completed, hoping
it will retain details that will satisfy another dimension
and life.
Curtailing the busyness and rush of earthly life, trying
to stay clear of it's treacherous footings, walking on the
back side of tomorrow's edges.
Knowing that life will be held to a closer scrutiny, not
banishing the purity of a clean and decent life of faith
and sacred piety.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
WOW! This comes close to expressing the heart of that mystery I wrote about in my comment on Writing Distinctly. It is uncanny how distinctly you can write about something so indistinct, by its nature shadowy, unfocused, secret. The German Romantic Age poet Schiller called this the Veil of Isis, Isis being one of the ancient Mystery Cult deities. This is a sacred moment cutting through this secular age.