Living on edges of oblivious conversations, hearing, yet not listening to anything that's said.
Reaching towards heavenly depths, eyes always looking skyward, both feet remain planted on earth, no where else to roam.
Within a handheld mind, luxurious models of life can be played with and then returned to shelves from whence they came.
Lumbering down slides of sand, gently erasing memories over time, eroding into eternal waters and carried out to sea.
Waves rising and crashing, enveloping in their white foamy arms, an entire person wrought from God.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem