I was angry at my pen
not it had black-dried ink
I was incensed at my pen
it wrote no more inspiring poems
I threw it on the wall
and rolled into wooden floor
I kicked it out of the door
i would't see that pen anymore
I was angry with my notes
Not it content a tiresome jokes
I was incensed with my books
all i wrote here lead to naught
I was bored to glance nature
all i know was to be reborn as new creature
I was scared to wipe pointless tears
just to hold blame of failure years
I was once a frustrated poet
this hidden speech was aimed to please
a key to open hopeful gate
and then new BLITHE POEM i create
I know how you feel about that have you tried a pencil (lol)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
when thee pen curses my writings i snap it in half and get a new one