I bowed
Out of perfection
I'm running
With a concealed shadow
And they chased
And chased
Will I ever see the bay?
A golden trace of a new born
Shedding glory off this window
Or a rotten dirt
Etched deeply
A scar
Beneath the ocean
Of questions.
- The Rockchick
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem