1: 38 p.m.
Rhythmically sounding into echoes of a lonely mountain call,
entertaining synapses of this brain.
Taking it's textures, touching them with harmonies of nature,
speaking silent words into the wilderness.
Accomplishing incessant picturesque thoughts through memories,
rising to beautiful energy, filling an entire spiritual being
of tolerant beginnings. 1: 39 p.m.
(10/25/14)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem