A steady persistence.
Constant fluctuations dripping
with the asphalt burning in the sun.
The same words.
The same sounds.
Nothing changes.
Floods of ice water shackled
by the groaning candles
that burn like forest fires
left unattended by conceit.
We are as vacant
as the shadows.
A pretending that
everything is fine.
Ignore the emptiness.
The nothing from which
nothing begins. We mouth
the signs of denial
and open our veins
in triumph.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is so very difficult to accept or refuse to come into terms with the pain we are in. Only faith can strengthen us. You have put a clear picture of this reality. Great write, Chris.