all the seekers show up here
scanning for inspiration
and finding only dawn and dusk
they sink in self-indulgent ego
they paint rainbows of hope
on life's battering ram
breaking through the prison door
with fairy tales and wistfulness
just before the inquisition
they speak of love in spring
they claim there is nothing else
not even high deeds or poetry
at the tunnel's end they see light
stars swirl on a starry night
a black cloud crosses the moon
but then the darkness comes
all the seekers show up here
and finding only dreams
they write them down in verse
casting coins into a darkened well
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That speaks for all of us poets. We are indeed seekers of inner peace and inspiration but yes our quest doesn't always meet the desired result. Great piece.
That's it exactly. Thanks for reading, understanding, and commenting.