It has waited forever to burn
one thin strip around it's Terra
it is then in the reckoning of her
-shelves
it's, sun is fast it's
fire, to burn inward or out word.
Her self to make or unmake in it.
This your thousands of beach's,
all of it's sand in your wisdom, it
would cling so hard to a few, is a
pebble on it, choices are made
not of it or because of it, it's you.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
As the fires within the self consume so will they consume all without if left unchecked.