I am asleep,
or so I should be,
I lay in my bed,
My eyes closed,
In a false mockery of dreams.
I silently wish,
that my dream will come to life,
and the girl i admire,
will feel the same,
and show it.
I will it to be,
And yet it never is,
A lie of truth,
An imitation of what is to be,
Might holds no key.
I am starting to grow weary,
as I begin to let my dreams,
into my mind,
a sympethetic imaginary friend,
that would never lie to me.
At least it shoudln't,
As it is me,
another side of me,
another secret,
Lost in the ink of midnight.
So i sleep,
and dream of nothing,
yet everything,
of love and hate,
and of war and peace.
And i leave with one word of my life.
Love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem