The aged soul.
We don't believe, nor disbelieve
In reason,
The way our little life does.
The evening in our soul.
Slowly
We seek the quiet
And it seeks us.
Twilight.
The curved body.
Inside us:
Years bent like pain.
Shrunken evening.
Everything grows thinner:
Our voice, our gaze, our hungers.
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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