Blinders of light combing my mind, taking out all
the riffraff cluttering avenues within.
Locating streets of yesterday, as I tread quietly
down them, looking for what I used to have and now
crave so much more now that I am older and coming
into my ending years.
Alive with feelings of safety and jumping into
conclusive images of time, being consumed with an
interior intoxication brought about by imagination.
It appears larger than life whenever writing poetry
to rhythms, creating languages that only I can hear
when listening to music of belief as it steps into
daily thoughts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem