The clock stopped ticking an hour ago
The breeze has seized
All that is left is the wait
Everything around me seems to wither
A slow heartbeat pounding is all I hear
All that is left is the wait
My miserable end; inevitable
A drumming rush passes through me
Faster my heartbeat is pounding
The flames from afar
Raise the skin from my body
All that is left
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You put me there. You put me right there at the nerve-endings. You put me - as directly as words can do - directly in touch with how it feels to be you, feeling as you did in the moments this poem has given form. You have a powerful gift with words. Whether you will, or not, you have a calling. I wish you strength, passion and good health to use it well. I salute you. - Bep.