You can hear the crying
Late at night
From the girl
Who tends to write
She makes mistakes
Don't we all?
And when she stands
She tends to fall
Who really cares
About her art
Her poems are dark
From her heart
She writes her art
She keeps it near
At least they'll know
She was here
She thinks too much
In her dreams
Reality
Isn't what it seems
It's all an illusion
In her mind
The happiness she lost
She wants to find
She watches the world
Fade away
Writing down
What she wants to say
There is no laughs
There is no sound
Except for the cries
From the sadness around
The tear stained paper
Almost torn
The inkless pen
So very worn
Everyone wants to know
If she'll get by
Even as she laughs
She tends to cry
They whisper lies
Everyone near
But the girl tries
Not to shed a tear
She hides away
In her room
A windowless place
Like a tomb
This sad little girl
Heart torn in two
Someone can save her
She doesn't know who
Her lifes work
Shredded on the floor
As she cries
More and more
Taping the paper
And taping her heart
She shreds the fears
Shreds them apart
She locks up her work
And hides the key
This sad little girl
Was always me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great job... it has an impresive ending... I really like this. ~mc~