Clouds written across the sky in ink of black, white and
gray, betraying the sorrow hiddenly delayed by death.
Portraying melodies long ago given away in whispers of
love, lying dormant the rest of life, praying for fortitude
and new love in the future.
Reaching for heights unknown to men, lying down on carpets
of unused knowledge, separated from their fruits.
Life undone, unspoken, treading carefully among centuries
untold, rocks stacked like funeral pyres at the ends of
life's long roads at dusk.
Riding through the colors, everlastingly beheld in faith,
iciness of fate riding in it's wake, like the needles of a
cactus until fallen begrudgingly in haste.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem