Many summers have left their mark,
In scents of cedar and pine bark.
And storms of dust have found their way,
Through small window screens, to stay.
And in dark centers of every eye,
Are lines to catch untruths; the lie.
Fishing for truth's our stated plot,
But disassembling’s what we caught.
The world’s so final, and so sincere;
It's full of laughter and unshed tears,
All black and white, with stern divides-
And so we hide the rest inside.
The facts are changing, every minute;
There's nothing said, but some truth in it:
We'll mark the weather, by and by-
But watch the truth go whistling by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poetry is simply amazing, and beautiful beyond words. May you ever write, always.