Sketching roughly my own persona
Is it true that I am a just loner
Scruffy hair yet gentle stare
Never had such an interest in the flair
Compared to those who live out there
For I am meek and not that sleek
As I walk along this lonely street
As I watch these cobblestones beneath my feet
But in my life I never feel that incomplete
Mirror reflections point out my own imperfections
Recollections I would never hope to find
Chiselled nor was I carved from stone
Withered flesh of skin and born
I was never set before a throne
But in my heart I am at home
Sketched upon my withered hand
The promise made by a simple man
With the dimples hidden in my smile
Sky blue a look within my stare
Does it show how much I really care
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem