The Saint Poem by Rickardo BecklesBurrowes
The Saint
No I'm not a saint, as much a sinner as you
learnt some lessons late,
nearer to knowing the 'me', too true – too true;
sometimes reckless, while sometimes sedate.
Unconsciousness felt like velvet fitted closely,
who I once was hovered on a cliff edge, smiling down.
No really, I'm still no saint; owning my truth gently,
wingspan embracing the new calm inside that I've found.
Taken from 'X'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/6/2026 2:28:20 AM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
Genius poem! we all are saints inside potentially!
Thanks for the positive feedback Liza; -)