2: 54 p.m.
Rhythmic tocking of this heart, walking into infinite
measurements of the universe.
Leaving nothing behind closed doors, scented life with
aromas of heaven's gardens are filled with blue roses.
Timely exposure mirroring the life of history, mine
alone, meeting with itself in poems written for lasting
expositions of mankind.
Erasing evils of this world through poetical music and
beautiful passion, filling patterns and designs of the
fabric of being, alone, waiting on shores of heaven.
2: 55 p.m.
(10/25/14)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem