prophecy is merely common sense
distorted through the lens
of our empty glass souls
projecting upon the abstract
all the failings of man
ironic in our denial
yet poetic in the continous
drive behind the centrifuge
of our imaginations
as we plumb the depths
of fears we can only pray
are phantasms not
patient manifestations.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem