It's late in our thought.
So many things left unanswered,
Yet the question are too weary,
Too fatigued.
The sadness of the evening.
We realize
We've lived for moments,
We existed for years.
It's late in our soul.
We want to know only small things:
How to live the next moment.
The next hour.
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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