O' how increasingly fragile
I've become
Shattered depression glass
cuts deep into thin skin
I'm blanched, lacking layers
and oh so common. Even a glass
slipper is no cure, only a false
dimension of hope.
Banish the mirrors, soon to become
her own pile of shards. My weakened
reflection now stares back from the
pieces on the floor. I sweep away
the carnage under the rug.
A symphony of souls have led me
to this point. After years of hidden adjectives
and flash fights, I believe the hype.
I'm dandelion common, Danica Flora fragile,
haunted house frightened, and deadly alone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A very sad poem, written with style and talent. I hope it is not autobiographical. I really like the great last two lines, a real cracker, good work.