It's seven twenty-five, I don't feel alive and nor do I feel departed
I'm sitting at home all alone as if I'm empty hearted
I am unable to sense anyone else's being
For I am dull and have no feeling
I thrash about with a doubt wondering of my existence
Asking why with no reply but I keep up my persistence
Days go by as I wonder why I can't figure out my reason
But in time I'll find my answer as we go season to season
~2008~
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great write :) keep it up