If the world is splitting
Then you must tell me
I don’t want those words
To be our last breath
A book is open
A chapter is ending
On the grinding stone
Lies a dull memory
In every image
A picture is bleeding
Running off the page
To an open canvas
Of all that’s left
Over pools of color
Brush it under the rug
So I can’t see it
The dripping water
Soaks the silence
Keeps me occupied
So I can’t hear you
Head is spinning
With no direction
Pick me up again
For a clear view
Now I see
It was all about you
And I have come alive
To stand on my side
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
u have a definitive imagination which is amazing!