Gentle whispered pleadings floating my way, grasping frail
thoughts and nurturing their seeds to grow soon enough into
poetry books.
Alive with the conjecturing of a lifetime, rearranging all
expressions of words or thoughts into rhyming schemes,
tantamount to certain ideas of living.
Anciently aware of the creative process, living and growing
within, standing on freedom's edge, waiting to greet final
moments of my small gentle life, slowly being pressed
from me by whispered pleas of a tiring aged soul.
Time to go, time to find a place in the great blue beyond
of inner poetry and joy.
At last separated from the wanton desires of a past, present,
and future, rowing towards what I have always sought after.
Peace of soul beyond this world, awaiting mine to be complete.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem