When I speak of history I speak well;
I leave behind the past where broken bones
Lay scattered on blistering sands to tell
Of atrocities that are mostly groans.
While you may feel the pain lurking inside
With hurt failing any impunity;
And browse pages upon pages to ride
This feeling of guilt, remorse or pity,
It was Columbus sailing the great tides
Out discovering many a new world;
And Sir Francis Drake loved the battle cries -
Chicanery as a new age unfurled.
The mind finds revelations in the past,
So meaningful and useful to the last.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem