I weep in the moonlight
Beside empty beer bottles
Contemplating my dreams,
I cry and die in rose gardens
Recalling her eyes,
I fall to my knees
In lonely prayers
Understanding
All my defeats.
I wish I wasn’t a poet,
I will never compose a line
Worthy of her loop earrings
Or turquoise dress,
I will never convey the adoration
That she deserves
From ancient gods
Or men of great esteem,
I’ve failed to appreciate her!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your title is very poignant. We do not choose to be poets. We are compelled to create. And you have done so beautifully. Your imagery, as always, is memorable. Take care. Always your friend, Sandra