It seems you found me here,
Cold and near death alone.
I wish I could go back a year
But the consequence is known.
I thought I knew what I was doing,
I guess I didn’t know a thing.
Now here I am stuck and stewing,
Soon to become a mourning ring.
I developed the perfect plan,
I thought I couldn’t fail.
Poised with confidence I began
Walking down that nameless trail.
I started slow, then gained speed,
Forward with absent doubts.
I could taste the treasure and greed,
The liquid quenching my droughts.
I approached as fast as I could,
I crossed the mat but then
Motionless, in place I stood,
As if I’d always been.
I tried to move, to break free,
I didn’t budge at all.
I couldn’t have known this would be
My last and concluding fall.
Today I still see the prize,
It’s nearly within grasp.
It sits staring into my eyes,
Observing my final gasp.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem