running up the street
from then till now
tree to chair to mud
and hanging on is true
survival can’t be counted
friends are for keeping
and forgetting
nice as you are
nice as you were
all the times of rolling mix
with those of singing
and friends and faces fall
distinctly real
a travesty
fishing as for living
hooked on purity
this little distance
this gaping whole
I am writing this
to you who must
carry on and through
in fear and loving
alone but loved
somewhat empty
hurt but trying…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem