I seek the highest peaks of attribution
Like a rose seen in the twilight or the red moon rising
light spilling across the sky like the blood of an illusion
Here in the quiet of my worried heart
I ponder heavily on the glowing embers of my mistrust
until they blaze anew and from my doubts I cannot part
Sitting in a forest on a mountain top I gaze up
The stars glow and glitter in hopeful jest that this will not end
I know their fear of loneliness too, and the length of their days
Here we are together now-entwined
and I am febrile, basking in the light of your lovely passion
watching in wonder as I realize how I was once so blind
Now in the aftermath of our furious ablation
feeling new at the passing of my other skin into the new
I think that for once I have found a question worthy of realization
Is it love?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
THis one was seething with a lonely passion...a regretted passion. Does it have to be love, after all? Top notch writing.