every thing we see is it's own constellation,
every thing that lives is a potential god,
things are thrown together by the mysterious, invisible 'push and pull',
constellations make up universes that make up mindsthat ponder themselves,
natural choas and dis-array spin galaxies of stars and planets, quarden off,
life floureshes, playing a god and creating it's own idealisms and thier laws...
thier so-called order becomes chaotic again, civilizations fall apart, collapsing within...
all before we even had a chance to begin.
THEre is no END
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem