There is gold where the bronze is consumed
Like the statues we stride on.
Truly the words of a man call him by the neck,
After the phrases are learnt of purity.
Our relaxed fury is upon us, loathing good emotion,
But the statues we become are all still.
Words are all in stillness, suspended and accessed,
In fashion and beauty.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem