So many days are gone,
And I have the apparent waiting,
With a longing lingering for your presence,
To offer my worship in-person.
Your image I picture and undone I feel,
With the awakening of phantasmagoria,
Something that my purest imagination conceives,
As tangible Plasma of profound awe.
A nowhere, yet everywhere, impels you harangue,
Waves, breeze, birds, -humans, -stars go sung,
Destiny's boarders wiping away their marks,
Declare your cosmic thunderous voice.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem