Reaching my hands out
I hold fire in my palms.
Touching delicate things
destroys a piece of my mind.
i put my hand on the orange silver strands of earth
and watching them gingerly blow my mind,
turning red over orange then black etc
smoldering, when like a spring breaking
I hear a rolling trolly car with cold and shiny bars.
its overcrowded...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
you write poems just as me check my poems too