is it sacrifice enough
the small parts
that erode, die
when I'm not here
but not completely gone enough
to be numb?
giving over to the chasing of fireflies
during day
there is little to do
but retire when light
makes shadows long
and only tall trees grow wide apart
PURGATORIAL SLANT, I DETECT, AS HAPPINESS SEEMS AFAR FROM THIS PLACE...'A SOLID WRITE IN IT'S OWN, INDEED...''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''FJR
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the cold comfort of the in-between. i heart this write, Eila.