The sun as it appears in dreams
Is only Nature's pale shadow.
Many, seduced by myriad screens,
Are currently ignorant
Of the origins of things,
As well as life's inherent purpose.
Novel images and alphabets
Gloss over the cracks in modernity.
This age looks ugly when its visage
Is reflected in Art's clear mirror.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Dominic I find when reading a modern poem it usually crashes and burns and is no great loss to disappear in its own ashes among its many kin. This is one of the few, that I wouldn't say screams in a readers face but gently whispers in his ear, compelling thoughts. 10+ and thank you good sir for a more than fine good read.