Forget the photography guy,
said one of my muses,
It just confuses,
and now you don't know
what to choose or use,
for a good escape mechanism?
The picture is plentiful
and everywhere abounds...
I like the sound of the button
though, it's like a great poise
in the dark of the light,
reminscent of the soul,
always about to ignite...
There's just a little bit
of heaven over there,
but that'll do,
It's true, my inner map
is infinitely crossed,
and then haplessly scored thru,
Everything I think or do,
is shaped by each breath,
And 'Death', I don't always
avoid it in the great lobby,
Polar friend or fiend;
it would seem,
that great emends should
happen more often,
But what do you really
catch most of all?
But your own tail, tale?
'Tell it! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem