Every ounce of my core is grand,
Though, I don’t feel it.
My bones so delicate, but I don’t feel them
Every colour in my sight is so clear
Though, I don’t see green land that surrounds me
With roses.
All my hair is on, on my white scull
Though, I can’t seem to weigh the length
My slim tender hands draw…
Lines of rejoice. As I hold in “ten tips”.
A palm of Lilly’s and a bunch of…
Yellow, daisies.
I have a persona that is two faced…
Where I am lost in which is which?
One maybe the innocent one, while the other
Is to be the “cold”
Blooded, angel.
I am spark with essence.
A pallet of colourful pencils
I may be
On each deep feature,
Dark and corrupt,
Form thi inside.
I am, that dainty tulip in the garden
Of loving, heaven.
Those marks on forehead
Glow as I walk on with two faces
With one two many heads.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem