Broken pencil tips, whispering lips,
Hearts ablaze, and hearts destroyed;
Things I’d muse, confide in you,
If, misconstrued, their pact prevailed:
I’m having that day, that certain day,
It’s telling me real, reality’s real,
Amity fails, you’ve passed me by,
They said for good, for good I said.
Forever and always, clockwork cases,
Each day, anew, handpicked, a whim.
The feeling at ease, of loss, disease,
He’s there, we’re gone, only a dream.
Company collides, cohorts arise,
Trot their talk, and weasel away;
Friends with flight, troubled affairs,
Faith, begot, but gone, will rot.
Where’d we go wrong, here or there,
A chance I think, was there, ne’er,
And from the start, our blood ran cold,
Bubbling deep, a crimson gold.
The gold they drew with greedy hands,
And tearing us down, to their demands,
Slapped us silly, our pride, the fun,
Reducing thoughts to the great above.
Broken promises, those luscious lies,
Hearts ablaze, and hearts destroyed;
Falling gently, fleeting fallings,
Drowning deep through silent sleep.
Nodding off, they’ll see me drop,
Heads hit desks, sights get kicked,
But tears they miss, the tears that fall,
My past comes back, nostalgic nit.
And sleep, you see, sly paradox,
Relaxed, poised, with limber limbs;
But tempering on, past vein and vessel,
Battle too quick for words to stick.
The truth, I guess, in words they wove,
I’ve guessed the things he’s never told;
And now when no one stands beside,
What pulls me on, will pull my morrow?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem