In all races there are needs.
In all races we have blood that
Bleeds a distinct red.
At some time in life all blood is shed.
Yet, no one confronts that which calls
ATTENTION to the PAINS.
That's the GIST OF IT.
IT'S the twist that fits.
There's no need for CONFRONTATION
THERE'S THE BLITZ Of it.
YES! The TACT THAT FLIPS the lid.
Sheep for the SHEERER
Cloth to the wearer
A simple LIFE.
CLOTHES that fits.
The seam the split.
Year and year.
LIONS LAIR, a PIERCING EYE,
The BOLDEST STARE.
SUCH A ROAR FROM THE THRONE.
A WAKING EYE
HAUNTED MEMORIES
Walking home.
Dozing on crying feet, royal themes
Conquest of dreams
Kings Of THRONES
STILL WALKING HOME ALONE.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem