Aisles Of Avenues Poem by William Benjamin Wolfe
Aisles Of Avenues
In the absence of inspiration,
I forge, perforce, my own dimensions:
Behold- an elsewhere with paths
in every direction.
I wistfully rest at intersection of
avenues, each one leading to
a separate astray;
each path an aisle towards
nothing but realisation:
I stand so far from the solution
any road infinite in length may,
lead me closer to a
more felicitous resolution.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 8:38:51 PM # 1.0.0.1119
