A Cry Poem by Max Maz
A Cry
C'mon, it's a casual disaster, a usual catastrophe
Never mind of an aught which's gone off
The world seems to eye you
with interest.
Simple is your mouth, simple as it has not
ever meant more than you have ever thought.
Please,
find anything pretty by mean of your fantasy
or remembrance.
And then,
after reaching a point,
wait for your vestigial pains
to come &
see them go off in a short space.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 7:31:50 PM # 1.0.0.1119
