Unable to stop the whirlings of the innards
reacting to this,
commenting about that,
overflowing with memories of past joys,
chewing on future fears,
comparing.
Unable to stop, to be.
The here and now disappearing
into volcanic expressions of nothingness.
Without warning,
as if in a flash -
an empty plate staring its epitaph:
Not Tasted, But Consumed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
expressions of nothingness, good write. thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment.