There, where the moon blooms full
on an edge caressed by dust.
Where majestic things roam, and
creatures sit, amazed by its splendor.
A world new, unexplored, unopened
to benefit the needs of man.
There, kept in shadow, lost to be
any privilege, and help at all.
In the heavens above us, upon
a golden throne, sits, the Jar of Pickles.
Amen-
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Brilliantly composed piece, fantastic flow... thanks for sharing '10' best wishes Jon