Filtering through clouds, sun shining upon intellect,
warming it comfortably while I write.
Enjoying it's essence upon my mind, immersing myself
in reflections of imaginative landscapes, unfolding
before me, sensing feelings coming gently forward to
touch my interior mind with illumination.
Tossing and turning in a cylinder of sorrow, being
thrown about inside it, not really minding as thoughts
finalize themselves in many poems of understanding and
relevance to others.
Emptying the many ideas onto conveyor belts so I may
see them in entirety, as they pass by me in images
and visions.
Each one a future miracle in time, helping mankind in
many different forms and patterns of design.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem