Time will wear out
With the dread of weary
That ate your soul
Your heart of love
No longer became lovely
Your heart of trust
No longer became innocent
The wisdom you had
Wasn't used
And it disappeared
As you live on
The warmness of your smile
Became bitter cold
As you frowned
And glared
The beauty of friendship
Will no longer exist to you
Cause you lost a friend
And you're afraid to be hurt again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well my XXXHolix Fire friend: First of all, you are not a wimp. If you were, you wouldn't be putting your poems before the world. Even if you hide your name, it's still you we are going to talk about. That's scary, and you're no fraidy cat. So there. Now for the poem. This is really what I call short prose but some do call it poetry. The important thing to me was your clarity. That will make it easily understood by everyone. That, my friend, is what artistic communication is all about. Keep doin what you're doin. Increase your vocabulary by having someone get you a great dictionary. And above all, pay close attention to how your writing sounds when you read it to yourself. The more smoothe and musical it is, the better. Well done! Greenwolfe 1962