In Father Time and Mother Nature, and in their precious son, the Holy Sand.
A misread prophecy,
A desperate resolution,
And a strike.
And so it goes.
But how far have we come?
Where is the beauty we were promised?
The endless sting of two-thousand slashes,
Continually overlapping in the spiral of our demise.
I would like to sit down and talk with both your Gods face to face and shudder and they sigh in mutual disappointment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
DEEP THOUGHT, THANKS FOR SHARING