It’s something like a fire,
Consuming and burning.
It’s something like a flower
Blooming and wilting in its time.
It’s written by the heart.
It’s something treacherous
Like a steep slippery rock face.
It’s something like a tomb,
Old and haunting.
It’s the writings of the heart.
It’s something like a rusted cage,
Rotten but binding.
It’s something like glass,
Frail and sharp.
It’s written by the heart.
It’s something like Beethoven’s fifth.
It’s sweeping, deep and forceful.
It’s something like a two-edged sword,
Always biting back,
For it is written by the heart.
I am an old tradionalist poet with little liking for free form which is often merely mangled prose I can appreciate well written works of any style as this one certainly is ivor aka poeticpiers
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
10 for this nice poem with nice imagery within a nice form.