I dreamed of an angel,
Hidding inside my arms,
Her voice is as lovely as an orchastra in harmony,
She kisses me gently and my heart sinks,
She whisphers to me and asks if i still love her,
I hesitate as she turns to look in my eyes,
But before I can respond I wake,
With the answer still in my mind,
I wish to tell her but the angel will never be mine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I can totally relate. Why do feelings that hurt us the most create the most beautiful pieces of art?