As the last word formed
on the lachrymal page
From the hiss of the nib
came the last of her rage
Then she tore it and crumpled it
Tossed it in the bin
Though the pad still held secrets
Impressions within
Deep down and ingrained
Still apt to arise
How sad that a blank page
can still proffer lies.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i LIKE MUCH! Short and to the point, litterary and still aesthetic. Do you write in spanish? I have some spanish poems in my page...your opinion is welcome.