Madness masked as normality sat with
us for twenty long years, beside the empty
dinning room chair, upon the unruffled pillow.
Silently it stayed, aggressively is displayed
its desire, knocking us down then holding
out its hidden hands. When finnally the walls
were stipped, trophies taken and boxed, long
ignored pictures cleaned and dropped into
darkness. Leaving behind a life of love, locking
up a life of fragile mood down seperate rivers
we sailed. It followed us leaving no footprints.
Even now it remains long after the clock hits five.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem