Tick, tick, tick,
the sound of convention-
the ticking of a clock as time
passes by, second by second.
Each second is a second you’re with me.
Alas, as convention as that would be, you’re only with me
in my mind. Un- conventionally,
my mind is where you’ll only be.
Mentality,
the losing of ones soul- is that convention?
the feeling that i feel now, forever?
some may say that to lose ones soul
is carefree- or to lose ones my so soulfully.
But you,
yes dear you, plague in my mind
and soul- no feeling left behind.
This my love, may as be convention,
if convention was to fall,
in love,
Upon ones first sight.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem