2: 17 p.m.
Moments of time elapse while writing, allowing thoughts
to continue in motions of ocean tides, mirrored in lunar
rhythms, shining upon this mind.
Carrying time into memories, blending them with inner
sentiments, finding their way to an unconditional love,
waiting patiently for an arrival in physical aspects of
life.
Long-lasting honor and praise for another, alighting in the
brilliance of indeterminate talent, adjusting for particular
moments and being saved for future poems.
Living on pages of many memories, letting them live also in
minds of those who continue to read them throughout their
lives.
Still not being done in remembering, falling onto shores of
a final horizon, one last moment in time.
Thunder blasting it's way like a trumpet in a marching band,
telling of the fascinating beauty always held within this
particular poet's soul.
Writing from depths of being, playing into compositions for
all to hear musically, even in poetry. 2: 19 p.m.
(10/25/14)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem