He was to be the poet.
And she not being able to describe the words to him.
Silence deeper then the sea,
that none with eyes being able wished to see.
One scar amongst two friends.
There comes silence when one is tall,
and jealousy of when one knows they are to short.
And silence of the friend one never had,
when loving tongues can't speak.
The roaring fire you can not hear,
each flame you feel it sear.
And the cold of north wind it's silence comes with fear.
The silence of each mental crisis,
and minds which suffer silence none will speak for either one.
And there is silence deeper than them all,
of the deceased.
If we whom come to live this life and will not speak,
why when standing silent are you looking so surprised?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem