I've written now a thousand Poems,
in search of just that one
Each word to slay the demon time,
each phrase my soul undone
I've come so close a hundred nights,
to see but not to touch
Then left to limp between the lines,
—their failure now my crutch
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March,2017)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
When the emotion or thought cannot be imparted directly, words often must suffice. And so perhaps those crutches, those metaphorical crutches, are not so bad. A terrific poem, Kurt.