Steady sound gravitating from the closest star,
A somnolent trigger firing at the glass of life,
Sitting while my eyes run over the sparkling sand,
Tonight, the ocean crashes against my finest art.
The ocean and its virtues, the mind and its rituals,
Collect the introverted fantasies and spin the glass of wine,
Waves drafted after the dim light and crooked lines,
Same ritual crafting your silhouette in the spine of my rimes.
Winters in the ocean are wet melodies walking backward,
The type of chill that makes you wander in circles
Wondering if there's an end to the unforgiven symphony,
Tonight, the ocean crashes questions against my finest melody.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem