The words of the long-dead still guide us like volunteer ancestors
Who share pithy wisdom that we force under our skin with black and paint upon our books and houses and garments
In the hopes that the words might be enough of a star in the blackness of this life
That we might join them in golden happiness at the end
As we leave no words nor better world behind in exchange
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
such a nice poem, Athena. Read my poem, Love and L u s t. Thanks.