Listen to the word's echo from swollen souls, word's stolen from the wisdom of the universal frequency that blows in the ether that disturbs not a leaf, it changes our world's history with new profound belief,
under the radar of what the masses can preserves, distant from no one but still just beyond there reach.
Listen to the word's echo from were no one knows and tell not its wisdom save the thirstiest of souls that crave the knowledge
that open the worm holes that time has stolen from us and now
we're growing old.
Listen to the word's of the young before the world has stolen there treasure and jaded there tongue, before the beast of hatred devours there belief.
Wisdom is ours at birth and then slowly it erodes, true wisdom is to know the thief that in sheep's close.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is you and it is I