He takes a drink
From that bottle of fire
To burn away the words
That he couldn’t bring himself to tell her
He washes it down
With a glass of self pity
Broken on the ground
Wondering if he should leave this city
Wandering around
A town of memories
Every corner turned
Was a reason That he had to leave
Gathering everything
That he couldn’t bare to leave
He then grabbed his guitar
On a journey away from this city by the sea
Every reason why
They didn’t seem to matter
He began to write a song
With words that wondered if he should have done it better
The cold down in his bones
As the wind ripped through his coat
He sits tonight at that corner
Singing the only song he wrote
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Nice your good write more