Words are the broken mirror
reflecting an imperfect world,
now they stick to the fridge
and you can mess with them all the day;
Meaning is the lost empire
between the crooked lines;
Truth is staring blurry-eyed
at words that were never there,
and
belief is a straw horse
that is hungry all the time.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem