And as she turns we do not feel her:
Four seasons pass in several shades;
life, the given spark to ignite the flame.
Time past is spent. Only to be
waved away without a care?
Then failing... falling on bruised knees:
For troubled souls seek a simple prayer
faced with the complexities of faith.
Oh... who is he without a name?
Why so many players at the game?
Where for art thou footsteps leading?
Hearts who suffer much are bleeding.
Youth lacks compassion; it's the fashion;
all is given and then taken.
Mankind's instinct to survive...
his consciousness brief as he travels through time
and space, spinning into eternity:
As she turns we do not feel her.
For Juliana, Irene and Jane.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem