Scatter them
Through out my head
not yours
they're mine.
Hands in pockets
head down
dark hair whipping in the wind.
kicking through the fire's remains.
Blackened edges
all that remain is that one word
written so big for the world to see
if only they'd look.
(August 16,2007)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem