Indifference makes me suffer so,
Though it won't kill me, that is certain,
And yet the hothouse flowers know
That with no water then its curtains.
Perhaps I should accept my fate
To now absorb indifferent rays;
The Sun is now quite out of date,
As each day still 'Good morning! ' says.
Maybe I'll pray to an indifferent God,
One full of life and not too old,
With a funny name and features odd,
And quicksilver in her veins all cold.
Or I'll plant myself to face the void,
To suck up dark indifferent vibes,
And those old hopes with which I toyed
May come and join my indifferent tribe.
I guess maybe it's worth a shot,
And I'll grow into a great big tree,
Though mind out that you hug me not,
For I will then indifferent be.
(CBB Sept 2011)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem