Admist the sadness, the words come with a flow.
Comfort in the paper, bliss within the rhyme.
People dunk my head in the water,
choking on the failures, let me drown in pity.
I cannot make money from the passion,
for I have no passion for money.
My dreams seem sweeter in my head,
than in a 5 star hotel, groupie filled bed.
Poetry, is more than words for you to read,
the beautiful comfort for finding company in our misery.
May my words be forgotten in time,
my name only known on a stone,
but the feelings I have sparked in people,
I hope, they become well known.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem