It hurts to breath,
My heart is beating loudly.
Something is coming.
Something I don't want to think,
It moves silently.
It haunts my dreams.
And dissapears on the wind.
Can anyone hear its footsteps?
Is it just a ghost on the wind?
This thing that is made of
Dark intentions.
Or is it just something
That is imagened and not real.
No, this thing was once alive.
Now banished from the living.
It moves carefully.
And maybe just maybe,
You'll be able to see just a glimpse
Of the thing.
The soul that had shattered,
Exstinguished and gone.
Left alone in the world
With nothing else left.
It wasn't just a thing.
It was me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem