We walk with laughter as a shield
With fear and burden under wing concealed,
Bleed from wounds we pick and feel
To see how deep the pain extends,
Caress the scars at battle’s end.
Milk from life each time we breathe
Its essence of momentum
Disconcerted by the rhythm we
never, never see simplicity.
Images mirrored without scrutiny.
Cycles fluid twist and go
Within and without barely noticed
Slow bubble rises in a viscous flow
Sighs silent stop to begin,
So few cries on archeological wind.
Days packed and over brimmed
Life the particle accelerator.
Idle is the fool, chronic,
Precious is the peace.
It sleeps with solitude, uneasy,
‘Neath the mountain of rest.
Oh to sup from the shadow of that peak
And consider eternity, rejuvenated,
With a youthful bullet proof lust.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem