Liquid evening.
We don't voyage anymore.
All that's left
Are the minutes, the hours:
Boats made of water.
It's late in our life.
No more peaks, nor chasms to climb.
They are old and shrunk
As ourselves.
Aged hours.
The only rebellion against death
That is left
Are the tears:
The living waters.
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From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem