Far in the recesses of the onenes of time; far in the dark misty atmospher of the
emptiness or the abstract nothingness; sits the CREATOR of all essence, substance
and being, "very sublime." In the arduousness of labor the darkness transcends the barriers of time unto the
borders of becoming.
Suddenly, a pulsation is heard, then felt, and grows until it can be auscultated; to
resemble the drummers cadence of a cold tired company of soldiers; and onset The
Journey of times oncoming. Many decisions float by, some fleeting as a whisper on the bakc of a wind blown
feather across a clear blue sky. The Journey continues to the fork of a road, that circumvents in dense foggy mist.
Finally, realizing straightforward is a clearing of the mist. It seems to ascend the
horizon as the crest of a wave as the valley is viewed below; as green as the deep
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem