I Want To Cry Poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester

Below the bright moon,
Gotta a champagne flute,
Shaking the Teddy,
The moon pays witness,
Dancing in the liquid Teddy,
Each time I stamp the champagne,
On the table,

I see my shadow in colours,
It mimic my moves,
Like I sip, like it sip,
I take a gulp, it follows,
As the trees applause.
The earth nod,
Then my spirits raze,
In total agreement 'th me.

From the undercovers,
Of the above horizon,
Getting lower to kiss grounds,
And on the above,
Of the below plane grounds,
Getting higher to tease the stars,
I form the flesh,
Between the sandwich:
The up, sky and the low, grounds.

The heart'd be waving,
The soul's too weak,
And the spirit's too shaky;
A void in my chest,
A dome in my diaphragm,
And fire in my belly,
Who's to face the grave?
Somebody tell me,
Who's to be the past? ,
I? ... me? ... the late?

I gulp a mouthful of my drink,
Rising on my feet,
I smash the glass down,
Shaking in rage,
I spit a venom of words,
To the birds, ants, trees, etcetera!
'I'm asking, who'll die? '
Vernishing in the dense air,
I tumble without help,
I still dread, I'll die?
I want to cry.