i should think now,
since doves have
vanished into murky
remnants of gutter
bodies, that all
have suffered, not in
vain, by any means.
beyond the pain, bodies
cast aside by
careless winds of
of transient wrath.
it's hard to believe
in vanished doves,
colored grey from
apathetic minds,
blending into innocent
skies,
and the symbol
that once was theirs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem