Could there be a beach made of tears,
like music of snow thrown from the fingertips of a lady.
balancing on a sharpened knifeblade,
that will go hungry
eating only a slice of cut blue from the sky.
So that's where we swim. After
showering down our soul's sad eyes,
or a beach made of dislocated tears;
Tears that know their own heart is warm.
That beach in the shade of the flowers,
our eyes watching everyone that passes.
knowing that what is left in this world,
is only remembered when having a drink.
When i remember the sky is a pillow
where i can rest your head
on the way to my dreams.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem