In a dark corner he sees me not,
Standing there in my corner,
As he sits in a ball in the middle of the room,
I see spiderles webs,
He thinks he’s the only one there.
I’m in the empty dark room Just as he.
The longing, the want, the hurt, and the emotion of numb.
I want to love,
I want to feel,
I want nothing more,
And I’m asking nothing in return.
I play no games and I bring no harm
I live within myself so only me I will scorn
I played my card at one time,
My hand was weak and uncontrolled.
Passion, passion was the wind delivered to my soul.
It failed me; I failed it.
Mighty things had come of it.
A new passion burned within
And a song was sang,
The only thing he heard, as he as he sat in the middle of the floor weeping for me,
Was the silence of the room
And the remembrance of a moment that had never come.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem