"Don't write for Poets,
their knives unclean
With jagged edges,
whose cuts demean
Their opinions frayed,
by wounds unseen
Whose righteous selves,
reflection preens"
Write for those listeners starved and wild,
with hearts not carved of jade
Call out to those aliens of the light,
still trapped within the shade
With words to christen and words unwashed,
no listener disowned
Each verse a prayer at best when sung,
—by voices not your own
(Villanova Pennsylvania: May,2017)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem