Running fast, passing minutes on the clock, racing faster, moving further away from the source of anger.
Covering up with a piece of calm serenity, keeping up appearances, trying not to expose any inner turmoil, never wanting people to know what I am all about.
Things are slowing down, slowly turning around, twirling emotions into labyrinths of darkness, carrying no lightened hope.
Afraid of nothing, dragging on steps of yesterday's memories.
Stalking away, finding no lasting presence to confide in.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem