When the lines start to shimmer
I’m left choking back my weaknesses
Teetering on the edge of an unrequited object
Nothing seems real anymore
I see my life as the proverbial twisted gnarled tree
The one that has a beauty of its own
But is hardly noticed
Left to wither and die
My Time is an hour glass
Only it’s being flipped over and over
Instead of being left alone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem