Silly me in silence parked,
in inspiration locked,
a ground submission.
The world is a playground,
the world is a slaughter field.
Relieve and love, recoil and fear,
it is all real if you are.
Breadcrumbs and chalk
mark your winding ways to
just a little bit longer.
An interlude, a break,
an intention warm to the sky
with birds seeking shelter,
an honest hello.
This is I.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem