Sometimes I feel like a sucker for poetry, not a fool, I just love the passion,
I will rather let my pen bleed on paper-my satisfaction
Sometimes am blinded by my pride and pen action
Girls, praises, commendations, quite a distraction
They opportunity makes the thief,
So right now am innocent
Can’t make this line brief,
It kills to be complacent.
My eyes are open, am waiting for opportunity to pass by,
Am severely sincere, I can tell were truth lies
So if I grab it, I will hold it strong,
If it works, am gonna thump my chest like King Kong.
Like a bird that has just been set free,
Am trying to spread my wings on paper, (express me) .
I woke up this morning, still living, still breathing,
I guess the man upstairs just postponed the meeting.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You do indeed have the passion, Austin. 'Bleeing on paper' is necessary (then, I don't post EVERYTHING I've bled-which is not meant as a comment on your writing.) You have a strong energy, and if you're ever inclined, I'd like to see how it would express itself in free verse. (If I said that before, long ago, forgive me. I can't remember.)