the clock still blinks
from a recent power outage
it's eerie green blue light casting
shadows of the wrong time
in regular increments on my walls.
sounds of apathetic people
waft from upward
filling me with sickness enough
to turn stomachs like old engines
slowly, desperately
very deliberately.
it's times like these
when mediocrity starts to sneak up
that i'll wonder if you're
still asleep in loves wake...
with tides of smoke washing over your face
or if you're content in your wanderings?
deciding to fix the clock
with nostrils burning, throat in coils
my mind never once leaves
your smile
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is a Stradivarius. It is crafted by a true Miestro. It is put together meticulously with precision, making sure that it all turns into a masterpiece. The first verse could be a poem on it's own. Very weel done, Eila! A 10.