Dirt turns into skin.
Word repairs the spirit.
Pain run the race.
While love stays a process.
Each beat inspires the heart to succeed but
The conscious mourn for revenge.
The light heals the sick but
The shadow compliments the virus in the rich.
Though the sighs help the journey yet
The steel blocks the vision in the fog.
The rose is the legacy but
the tree is the eternal stone. By: Milton Styner Jr.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem