It’s been done before, I know.
But this time I’m speaking, not you.
An anger has unearthed in an icy core.
It boils, it breaks, it leaves, it’s leaking.
This is a chapter where it’s all deserved.
But I am blind and not one who believes.
I am sorry that it may not be until after
This is through that I’ll find what I came for.
Now I wait for the words my skin will fill,
My bookmark is steady; a flat, aching cane.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem