When is the time to realize the higher dreams
of caressing bare shoulders beneath the shimmering
ice-like moon?
I've been cultivating exotic flowers
in a votive candle apartment room
as Mozart plays in symphonic prayer.
The fog lifts at sunrise,
tears cease with acceptance,
and every answer and solution dawns
when the heart is ready.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Higher dreams with the muse of life. Nice work.