Dense, black tar has mended these streets.
Cracks will no longer be a troubled matter.
Repairing an inadequate dilemma
still remains a simple task.
However, when the deeper situations
form a barrier around our shoulders
control seems more perplexing to possess
and our mind and conscience exit from underneath our feet.
When faith slips away from us,
like sand through our fingers,
who is it we reach out for?
The stage of evil and denial
plays out like a book
and performs for months at a time
right in front of our repulsive eyes.
When the sky turns dark
and depression sags on your face
what is it that you turn on?
Fantasies of joy in another world
will sneak into your brain,
being set free
by hallucinations of thoughtless wonder.
When an ideal figure fades away
and one's sense of love refuses,
who are we to agree with ourselves?
That presence who once screamed
through every chamber of our hearts
turns cold and desolate.
Each day will walk through
slow and unforgiving.
When death slides through
in every pore of our epidermis,
where is it that we hide?
Dark corridors with tightly sealed locks
transform into a refuge of our own sorrow.
Time goes on a stand still, waiting,
for the sun to sneak through the window.
So in what way are we to tackle life?
In what matter do we overcome anxiety?
Distress becomes a parasite,
sucking away at our inner happiness.
The only cure is optimism.
Is there any easier way?
thought provoking, very interesting, thanks for sharing. cheers Shimon
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hello: This is interesting. I wrote one with the title A Writer's Dilemma. That is what drew me to this one. Adeline