I have wearied of this language
My tongue is fatigued from this voyage
My pen tangled is mired in sargasso
My passion, divorced from its muse
I am tired of borrowing
Worn words
I am beat from the
Constant rhyme.
I want to tear the pages of this tired life and fling them to the sky
Then knit them where they lie
Into something new.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem