Prolonging thought, lengthening it's stance as ideas revolve through tubes of creative processes.
Shaping my mind anew with linking meanings, leading to a myriad of trouble as life melts into puddles of tears.
Waylaid one October in the birth of an ideal language, supported by cryptic codes arranged in many colored hues and stepped over for other endeavors of peaceful reminiscence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem