The age of reason has long past, checked in over-due, to a dusty library
Filled with the manuscripts of time.
It's not on a shelf, arranged alphabetically by the author's last name,
Or teetering haphazardly atop a pile of stacked books.
But, simply gone.
Revised and edited, recycled into what we now read;
Articles penned by the hand of others, meant for the minds of many
That's not so bad… Is it?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem