Whom decides of what is best
comingling of the past
that's now.
Opinions of how one lives
this stratosphere
or ground so
plowed.
Careful of one where
they do walk
remembering
of the past
they caught.
Memory dims the path
is fraught
in history
condemned
reapers lot.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem