A blank page,
With a specialty it doesn't own,
Like an empty cage,
Abandoned and alone.
Nothing,
To love would be foolish,
Like a bird with a broken wing,
Completely useless,
It's gone,
Nothingness filling the atmosphere,
Becoming dull and wrong,
As the excitement disappears,
It's just empty, plain, and bland,
Nothing special in the end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem