Real. Poem by elisabeth james powell
Real.
Broken frames
and golden suns
A world of hurt
and sometimes none.
Comparing lives
And dare to strive
A world of hurt and fun.
Contrasting colors
maybe a thought
Rather so silent and vaster
Keeping inside, fasting
What inspiration has caught
Time is moving faster
It better be ought.
No sequence of pattern
Or what to feel.
The words I say
Are more than real.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/7/2024 11:47:08 PM # 1.0.0.1119
