Taking time to think, remembering all the times of happiness and joy with great clarity.
Sensing quiet emotions hidden for years beneath tears of sadness.
Following pathways into forests of yesterday, expanding future memories with a little bit of old.
Time consuming in interminable periods of nonchalant character, becoming ominous on dreary days of silent being.
Tossing every idea into pockets of abbreviated volume, hoping to be noticed in aspirations of talented imagination.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem