Evening made of tidy hours:
We try to put order
In the chaos of our pain.
Twilights come empty handed.
Nothing left to sell.
Not even the dreams.
The evening in our soul.
We still long
For the longing
we've lost.
- -
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem