there's a small fire burning
in the corner of a room
he had not seen
for some time...
the kaleidoscope of tiny breaths'
each one personal and real;
like tiny sparks with names
long forgotten....
the heart is a kingdom
of it's own making and design;
full of the precious now lost
in the howl of the night.
and he stands on the precipice,
angry, tired, bitter....
without choice, without meaning...
and no reason to be.
let there be peace somewhere.
let there be living...
let there be truth, honor, and dignity...
let there be hope.
he closes the door,
and walks to meet an angry God.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A beautiful poem. For if their is a god he should be angry. We waste a precious gift everyday that he gave us. As a boy I'm looking through a window so small. Only hoping I can understand it all. Knowing not of certainty, but of uncertainty. With do diligence I absorb it to understand for I am man.