All I Do Is Poem by Charles Dawes
All I Do Is
with eyes that see
and hands that touch,
who would you become
if life became to much?
any of your dreams can end.
much like a needle,
coming of its vinal tract.
a meeting of powerful men
can only solve the simplest of troubles/
as if you are a bear,
asleep in its den.
now my words are just as
patchy as my stubbles.
writing down what I
feel.
but not really.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 9:31:24 PM # 1.0.0.1119
