When I see the dying faces of sorrow,
Whose eyes seem so dead.
My heart floods with tears,
Though my face can not be read.
I keep it locked up inside,
Burying my head in work.
Does this make me a coward?
To not face my fears?
Or a strong one,
With a cold heart to match the emotionless face?
But those who know me well,
Know how I die everyday inside.
Just hoping things will work out in the end,
And in the end no faces of sorrow to drowned out my heart.
Face of sorrow,
Truly spellbound,
Notices nothing but its on.
But a face of truth,
Which I see so few people carry,
Hold the pains of the world.
Trying to help,
Trying to be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Some truthful words, great poem. -Kylie M. Lynch