Pens glide across the empty lines,
scribbling words of some heavy
rhyme.
thoughts are overflowing and
spilling,
a heart is crying out of it's hurting
mind.
Days have now become grey and
cold,
colourless mornings for these lost
souls.
We wander through this life
aimlessly,
looking for the rope that we used
to hold.
Hope is the very thing we strived
on,
faith was also an article we survived
on.
Now that we have nothing left to
rely on,
we have lost all the things we
thrived on.
A community that can't learn to
love,
and we continue to remain divided.
So much pain, suffering and broken
trust,
yet who is it that we can confide in?
We remain faithless, we remain
faceless,
and everything seems to break us.
A disaster for those claimed as
fate-less,
thinking they can change what
makes us.
Poetry has now become but simple
words,
for any to quote, sing and sullenly
recite.
It no longer gives an essence to the
world,
it is dead and can no longer be
revived.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem