Uniformed and re-upped,
We are the mind sweepers;
The navel gazers picking lint
Waiting for the image to strike.
We are the missals,
And the launchers,
Looking at cross-hairs
From think tanks.
We captain verse vessels to shore,
Unload and return for more.
We are the Romantics,
Ancient subconscious mariners
Stitched in hammocks.
We are the rocketeers.
A force
To be reckoned.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem