Melting Peninsula
And glory begets disgrace,
for some accursed creature thought
that balance might be possible
down the road between extremes,
and the most accursed of all
thought that poetry might be
the balm to cure us of our ills,
and so it might, but at the cost
of the reader's ever weakening grip
on what's left of the little sanity and sense
he'd cobbled together from scraps of notions
evolving down the generations.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great letter to your friend, or something? , great message,10