My thoughts on how the road began
see the light right through the clouds.
Any other way I passed right by into.
No other color further
from my eye's, I saw today it was.
As it fills the air the floor boards groan.
Creaking steps lead up, some red stick's out.
Nothing as it was it's always been.
Backward flowing words that taste of ink and ash.
Something that was often said
can be a little more than once but never twice.
All the year's before your birth it's known are gone.
White is not a rose if it is red the sunlight shows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem