The deterioration of my pupil's bandwidth
Has clouded my vision
The rain is pounding down on my weary shoulders
A wry smile is the only sign among the pale complexion and limp grip
That hints to my presence
Here on this plane of existence
I'm conscious, yes
Bu who the hell, in this school of fake smiles
And superflous laughter
Knows, if I'm alive
I can speak
But air
What on this cruel, unforgiving earth
Is fresh, delicious
Precious
Real air?
The tall, black haired angel took it away
Never trust an angel
They pick you up
Tak you up high, in the clouds
Up to the one labeled #9
Then, with an apology
And an unfinished sentence that cuts to the core
Don't say it
Don't say it
The angel, so beautiful, so kind
Has dropped me from the skies
I cannot trust perfection
Or I will no longer be able to see with these deteriorating eyes
The rain, so empathetic
Strokes my cheeks
Like the fingers of an angel
The thunder booms, so powerful
Like the voice of an angel
Like my fleeting
Temporary heaven
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem