I am put on hold
I am made to wait, wait, and wait
I have become something
I fear to look upon
I have fallen
.
.
.
Far
I am a long way from home
I am lost
Somewhere in the depths of myself
Where I weep and weep and weep
With dry eyes
And wet eyes
In turns
An old jalopy
Ol faithful
Ol reliable
Predictable
Perhaps unremarkable
I am no beauty
I know.
And my face has become a reflection
Of another’s
My eyes are magic
That turns the weak into giants
My strength built
From pains past
Is a bulwark
From storms
I am useful
I know
When my term is done
I will be left behind
For better things
Shiny and new
That fit better
This also I know
All this I know
And live.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem