A Boy sits in a dark little room,
Alone with his thoughts for a time.
These thoughts include it's all for naught. He wants someone to say, 'No it's not' everybody's ok, but it never comes.
All that comes is the pain of nothingness,
of meaningless existence, an underlying lack of passion.
He creates art, to appease the dark
First black and white, which only weakens the struggle.
Red comes next and it's all he sees
Red art lines the room as the darkness is appeased.
Long enough to turn to his friend sleep
Sleep eases the pain and makes him remember a time that was tame
An anxious answer to help his aim.
When he awakes, the red is crusted.
And the dark is back, and it wants more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem