A candid confession from you,
when your identity started protruding
from innocent rage.
You were accepting defeat
without a fight.
The lips tell the grief of human failure,
your prudence propped up
by Prozac.
A beautiful collection of anxieties
adorned on the shelf of life.
A cruise in veins
to dispel the high cholesterol
dewy-eyed mirror
and ambulating pain.
Some solid lines in here. Work on the development, the cohesion. best care, sjg
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The river knew no other course. It caressed rocks and was turned back on itself. It waited for the rain and flung itself against the shores, thinking only of escape, it gathered itself from the sky. And slipped downstream alternately angry and calm.