I hold you, while you tremble from just being,
Into my palm burrowing deeper
seeing only down amongst white.
I wonder if you will ever fly again,
as your will has been broken
and the sky has been cruel.
I think tomorrow we'll try again,
maybe the sky will open its heart
and let you fly through.
2005
This is precious. It is the rarest of the things, just being. but truly achieved it's tremble is enough to tumble mountains.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you T.I.R. :) Kim