Rain falling
from a grey sky,
light failing
as the day dies;
and my soul drains away,
like the rain in the gutter,
going nowhere, going under,
while I try to figure
how a man can live forever,
and choose to love but little,
when love is all he knows,
and all he chose
Faces are revealing,
but half of love is stealing,
and I'm scared to trust my feeling
that you might care
I would climb your silken ladder
til my feelings were in tatters,
if I thought that it could matter
that I might dare
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I'm glad you posted this. It perfectly captures the longing and dread - the frailty of hope. Sometimes the sun seems 93 million miles away. 'Half of love is stealing' is one I'm going to have to think about. It rings true, but disturbs. Of course, that's a mark of truth, I now consider.