The stains of time stamp our souls, and create an impression that last thru eternity, good or bad, these images morph and shape us into their own creations, or, shows us the true metal of our character, the choice is ours to decide, kneel and let them rule and destroy us, or rise and show that, your soul is your creation, and you will fight to the end of destiny to be the master of your own fate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem