Leaving pieces of self around, scattered about
fields of remorse and sorrow.
Unable to move from these aspects into happiness,
wondering why not.
Trying to gently pick up the saddened blossoms
without damaging or harming them in any way.
Holding their delicate and fragile lives of grief
within my spirit.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The spirit can be a ruse at times, as its motive is to raise you up and spur you on but does not take into consideration its mal-ability to recognize an inability of one incapable of meeting expectations that were driven by spirit'.....Your alludement to grief and rue is an appropriate opening to this fine work. ~FjR~