Who am I;
but another fading face; fleeting faith, disgrace; begging for a place?
Born of stars;
or maybe from the rain; reaching out in pain; regrets repressed to shame.
I could spend the rest of my life
trying to decide
who what the when and why,
but I am blind, desperate to find
any sort of light
to guide my down cast eyes.
Who are you;
are you even there, to save me from despair, to pluck me out the tide?
Always there;
could it be you who spun this web, put me through this pain, to unending scathing flame?
I will never know the answer,
it's impossible to know, so all that's left to ask, are the rocks here left to show.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem