almost dawn
blackbirds on the telephone wire
waiting
as I eat yesterday's
forgotten sandwich
at 6 a.m.
an a quiet Sunday morning.
one shoe in the corner
standing upright
the other laying on it's
side.
yes, some lives were made to be
wasted.
I fear far that far to many of us have felt this sense of worthless but are afraid to admit it. Charles wrote his feelings honestly and without forethought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow, striking writing. I laughed at how open and honest the last bitter punch is. ~*