Born from the fruit of my Christian Mother.
Raised from the seed of my Father.
Grown from the salt of the Earth.
Nay, this innocent heart does not search.
This life, I have as mine!
In an abode less than refined.
Wilderness, freedom to this native child.
Purged from winds in the wild.
All of nature, in her heady seductive scent.
Within the hours of my joyous desent.
Such volcanic words aching to rise.
A splendid whisper of childish cries.
This life, I have as mine.
Simply a shadow of eternal time.
There is no glory!
In the same old stories.
Yet, a glimmer of truth abounds.
Within the depth of my quiet sound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem