The pain of confusion,
The questions within your delusions,
And the unjust of your reality.
The pain in the illusion,
The emotion a baiting infusion,
Of a past been formality.
When the world excludes you,
And you let it.
When it bears down and makes you blue,
It is an odd comfort which, in pain, dose fit.
You drench the past in gasoline, the match lit,
And you know what to do.
Rip out those pages in your book and start a new story,
One not based on the memories of the past,
Write of new pains, and new glory,
And make the moments worth remembering, last.
There's lots of great maturity here, I like how its infused with hope and it does not end in despair. Your words and imagery are beautiful especially these lines You drench the past in gasoline, the match lit and you know what to do Magnificent
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I see what I will call Punchlines here. This is gud and mature too. Kudos...Keep it up and Keep writting.