Inside us:
Hours old as pain.
All our names unite.
They become a sigh.
Little by little we realize
All our answers
Are as blind, as aching
As our questions.
Evening.
The last hour of the last day.
We still justify ourselves
To ourselves.
---
From Aged Mirrors - trilogyofthemirrors.com
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem