Some days I don't like myself,
Most days I'm drifting on a dream.
A jilted book on a shelf
Never shares its ambitious theme.
It's a constant yellow light,
Do I hit the gas or the brake?
A sunny morn kills the night
And smiles wryly at the wake.
There's a man somewhere out there
Whose dreams are a reality.
He's completely unaware
I'm living vicariously.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Jimmie A. You may like to read my poem, Love And Lust. Thank you.