Stringing along beads of life as I turn away from the piercing screams of loneliness.
Left out of all treasures in light of remorseful tremors, holding me in a warped sort of paperback book.
Always being exchanged and never surpassed by anyone else's life in many books of poetry.
Listening thoroughly with an open heart, never believing that all of existent details will be expelled in poetical musings for a timeless period of usefulness.
Unthinking thoughts, coagulating in volumes of musical compositions, interred in tomorrow's essence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
amazing poetry here, you know your vocabulary and how to put it to use.well done hey