Alive Poem by William Levy
Alive
Perfection
is forever loving.
We know not of this idea.
It is like eternity,
just an impossible idea we will
never see in this life.
But we are something else.
Inconsistent.
We are cold and lacking affection,
appreciation, and respect.
We must train our selves
There is a beautiful mountain before my eyes.
I will never have true acknowledgment for it
or the ability to climb it...
But try, I will
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/19/2024 11:05:25 AM # 1.0.0.1119
