I Write as if I'm not broken,
but the reality of the shards,
our beyond a remnant of dust,
Faded among the heated glow,
of a writers heart,
the surrender so sweet,
the pen with dry ink,
finally wets on the tongue,
that inspires words once more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi, this is so good and true. Feeling empty inside, but once tears come rolling, words of deep emotion meets paper.