beyond some pain and distress
Lies a world of unending sorrow
So profound,
so inlaid, it comes with music.
One never gets accustomed
Instead it becomes your ordinarity,
Your own, embedded, singularity.
No matter the size, independent of shape
And not to be confounded with any kind of fate,
Never seen in a Venetian mirror,
Never found in psychotherapy profile,
Only dark, sad, many times vile.
A twisted multitude of wicked dimensions.
A conjured palimpsest of frustrated ascensions.
Evil fallen into the inner child, unprotected and ludicrous.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A twisted multitude of wicked dimensions. A conjured palimpsest of frustrated ascensions. Evil fallen into the inner child, unprotected and ludicrous. The inner chld and the evil..... very nice idea. your mind is philosophic. write down all that comes up in your mind. you will be a great philosopher poet. tony