The face of a faded sage, torn between the past and present day. From whence one comes, and to where one has become. What knowledge, what grace, what wisdom is none. To be lost in the midst of it all, to be in the place of the bottom- where one falls; to be lost and seeing down far, beyond the place, fallen thus far. Silently every scar wounds deeper and more, placing holes that go uncured. The dept of the hurt, the pain unknown, wretched is the man who's unbecome. Left alone, cold as stone, the heart and soul, dies in sheol. Death is not the outcome, but
the cycle of life undone- disgraced.
11\25\15
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem