Limp hands
feel cold at fingers
drooping drowsy eyes
show no element of life
bent shoulders speak of aches
sadness and pain of humiliation
tearsome eyes
smile forsaken face
sobbing hard within
not many would know
not even the one she knew
or she thought that she knew
could partake an iota
of that feeling of being forsaken
if anger could always shout
to free itself
if sorrow could always sob
to calm itself
if laughing hard and dry
would bring joy
she would have done it
but
she has but herself
her enemy and her friend...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very well thought out poem, we have to like ourselves first if we expect others to like us, thanks, 10 Lynda xx