Moving up mountainsides in mind pictures, catching all shadows in sunlit corners.
Becoming beauty in waterfalls and white rapids as I race by in life, trying to do everything I can before dying in deathly embraces.
Quality of life is exasperating and folding me in half, leaving me alone, drifting on a raft in a major storm upon the ocean.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem