Stationary forms of balance precariously teeter on
the edge of sorrow's remorse.
Knowing the statement of lost horizons are upon
sinking shores of past fidelity, sliding unawares
onto the sands of yesterday.
Filled with apprehensive qualities of long-ago, a
retired stretch of imagination will foster growth
in other directions, preferably up in heaven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem