like strangels
watching the desecration
of life
with movements
like walking paris
beautiful
yet tragic
this shovel hand dance
our play with words
creates confusion
our language
poetically evasive
my feet caught in vines
of their eloquence
as cold as angels
our words spill out
in regret
our dreams
met by the hammer
and all fell
like water
on jagged stones
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem