Seeing,
Fleeing,
We do what we do everyday,
but we have not much to say,
Slowly,
Gradually,
everything becomes blurry,
because everyone's in a hurry,
then they soon forget
that they are just
too tired.
Coming from a poet out of LA I can relate to the hustle-bustle of my hometown north of ya in sf. Well written...especially like the single lines pulled apart from other stanzas. Works very well. Right on! ~Fil
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
this is simply nice.Love it