Thier tortured soul will climb into this blind
And thier words will mingle with mine
In thier mind, they'll think of the ideals
A shride of pride for this moment in time,
When our mind's eye do intertwine
And everything clicks for a mild moment
The humor will bring them up, though they're never really down
Smiles pound thier heart from the inside out
They'll pry and try to get inside, behind these battered eyes
This person will read my poem and for a spliced moment,
Realize and get it
The message of feelings underneath
They could be any color, or mind, from any walk of life
But if they give my try some attention
They are not only the reader, but also
The Intention
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
without a reader the writer is barren.. without the writer the reader is barren...thus within a fold the paper meets...and we find as poets our words are complete. Thanks Lauren well put ~^..^