Unborn, undead, unloved, unsaid,
Whilst death comes slow, blow by blow,
I suffer still, from lack of will,
The world still turns, with will to burn,
The sun still sets, and pays it's debts,
Ignoring always my silent cry, for love to fall, and let me die,
Unborn, undead, unloved, unsaid.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem