When concerns gather round my tired mind,
circles of ghostly life, so serene and still,
Haunting the very essence of the night,
Fear no truth, nor do they feel the chill,
As they thrive on weak minds with their might.
The specters dance in circles round and round,
Their wispy forms brushing past each other,
No footprints on the earth, nor any sound,
But whispers that send shivers like no other.
They lurk in shadows, and play with our fears,
Amid the mist, they cast their eerie spell,
The soulless beings, they shed no tears,
Leaving us trapped in their malevolent well.
We are to be blamed for restricting self from expression/ growth / not exploiting potentials.5*****
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A tired mind is the object for all malevolent eyes. A well written piece on the chosen theme