I’m shaking hands with time-
Despite each birthday I deny.
I’m aware that men are made
In dawns…In sighs…in labor…
While youth is taken quietly,
Effortlessly.
Yes, I’m shaking hands with time-
While The laughing child bathes
In the crimson blood of my past
Which I keep in glass vials
Beside a humble bedpost-
Youth's ichors do not run through me
They’re only captive memories
Which serve to humble a jaundiced heart,
Into terror, Into agony!
My hand is grasping time’s
Shaking not out of courtesy,
But shaking in fear
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Poignant fearful piece......well done with great rhymes and figurative language! ! ! Thanks.........love lots.