In each slow, tortured century,
Of the poets' sowing & reaping,
Love's pure light is the guiding force.
It connects rusted, darkened fragments.
Although bright, youthful dreams descend
Into self destruction, Love prevails.
It heals crude hearts that have turned to ice.
It soars above the abyss of nightmares.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem