There are thoughts that most have
that few do
where most think of heaven but
once a week.
Here inside where most think
being linked here to there
from the tongue few are here
still they speak.
Whereby thinking of ghosts all that
one day most will be
and of the few non thinking others
that suffer you to see.
Unable to sleep
stuck in your throat are your dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem