Trapped in a creative purgatory, I strive to survive
As one magnificent manufacture is constructed
The others escape fertilization
Ink, paint, pencil none
Hands disconnect from the mind
Portrayed on the naked paper
Disenchant aroused, I strive to survive
Perplexities take place of vanity
Any stroke seems insignificant
Waiting for a advent of ingenuity
Periods of imagination cultivate the day
Yet none speak any warmth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Second stanza stands out, being the only one with some clever, physical imagery. As for the subject, I know how you feel. More imagery, scattered randomly or unexpectedly, would suit your style very well.