The many who have been inflicted,
With wounds and scars...
To leave them sleepless fearing nightmares.
Must forgive to mend.
Must forgive to end...
That unbearable pain continuing,
To relive heartfelt tragedies...
Coming to go as if on a welcomed visit.
We choose to be the curator,
Of our own sick exhibits.
As difficult as it is to keep this acknowledged,
Where we are in these times we face...
Is a place that is 'still' the creation of GOD.
It is still the place we pray everyday...
With valuable lessons taught we should learn,
To allow and let The Creator turn our doubts around.
But the more we sit and inflict our own agonies constantly,
We are not permitting the faith we claim to correct and solve...
Without stubbornly getting involved.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Amen to that. A great poem. Have you read any of my sonnets?