Words come up
and stumble
on the threshold of my lips
they dance, impatient,
tapping on my teeth
with pretty fluted serif edges
pulling colours from the sea, the sky
from the me myself and I
that ache to weave fine silk
from half-born, limping concepts
that wilt, unsaid in darkened hallways
cluttered up with thought
with visions of some future
drawn by strange impatient hands
that do not know the pause
between two heartbeats is forever
the place where love is made,
sins are forgiven, breath taken
for the smile to mark the coming dawn.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
your little piece is woven with beauty and spontaneity...the insight of the mind is revealed..Well written