The withering of Beauty,
the faltering of Life.
As much as we put into it,
it is cut away from us,
by blade and by knife.
Eager hope, for more then some,
Striving for virtues, only to be left,
with the insensitivity
of none.
Having Faith in your God,
your Country,
your Soul.
Yet still left with the feeling,
of being so much less,
then whole.
Endeavoring the the meltdown, the smoldering
of All,
to resound in the fact,
together or alone,
None of Us,
are that small.
Idle words, as subtle to some,
will still let to be known, as a whole,
We are but One.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem