Sometimes you don't feel that you belong where you are.
Sometimes you feel life is ugly.
No matter what you're doing,
You feel like you are part of an unliving thing.
Sometimes you can feel the eco of your own voice,
And you can even touch your soul with your hand.
It's the moment when you feel that you are alive and you are full of love.
It's a good feeling.
It's a wonderful feeling.
But sometimes you feel empty,
And you can't feel your heart beating.
You feel it's bleeding
And you try so hard to stop the bleeding, but you can't.
And you feel the ugly taste of blood in your mouth.
All your body is down.
You try to say to yourself: 'I'm alive, I'm alive.'
But there's nothing you can do.
You still feel empty, so empty.
Probably should be in first person, but even that wouldn't salvage it. I sort of like the thought of 'eco of your own voice' even though I assume it's a typo. Lucretia, this poem of yours is full of emotion. That's great. But poetry is emotion PLUS talent. Keep trying.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Well then. let's see a poem of your's shall we.