nothingness, mocking thyself,
cloning itself, like a fist thats
about to open, then close, like
a rose, pointing itself to the
sun, , it begs for heat, and rain
from the clouds, and finds only
nothingness, still with audible
words, it curses thyself, then
folds itself back into a dream..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nothingness was never expressed so full of wholeness, my friend...A fine penning indeed, David FRANK