Piles of those pages
Holding some untold miseries,
And here the fire sparks to its flames
Waiting to burn shattered memories.
Maybe the starry night, or his eyesight
Trust me I've died along
Or barely lived holding on frights.
Infinity those days we've count
Never those pages tore I've found.
Now my eyesight reaches the ashes
With the word ‘forever' burning within,
Never have our infinity
Died among those pages seething.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem