Throughout the depths of my emotion's
up and down through the stars, counting the steps
the color of pain to our blind eye's, inside
of a jar with out wall's.
Some turn to death at a very young age, setting fires
right before a big rain.
Any good comming from that can't be seen.
Nature to them is a dream.
I am not numb from the cold, before she could ask
I took a knee in the snow.
Look back..
when winter was white what followed was green,
struck through and through, through my heart.
Who still here has ignored, ignored sound advice
who survived to old age,
while watching the young leaves float away.
Now in the internet age you have chosen to give
it your face
the narcissist say's, a choice you have made,
a small world
watching you give up on life every day.
Saving them all, a few minutes each day
to be the one who could change this cruel world
premature, they painted your face on a wall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem