Pleasant rhythms playing alone, wondering where everyone has gone, no more humor or fun left behind.
Looking around, hoping that a wonderful vision will escape into the mind of a poet.
Possibly writing and portraying an important puzzle that has as yet to be made.
Many artistic ideas are now soaring above in the passion of yesterday, nothing to save.
A finality unfolding in the center of this heartache, falling away into ravines and canyons of decay.
Negligence that has accumulated in the presence of another day, yet having nothing to show for what has been done in a lifetime of living.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem