Glancing over the word 'inbox' written in commonly platitudinous lettering.
Sigh. My inbox is like a ghost town.
Apathetic cracked ground. Lifeless.
Dying tumble-weed drifting past shattered dust.
All life extincted. All hope obliterated. Falling into a deep, frozen, heartless sleep.
Peacefull but cold.
Painfull but mild.
Windless.
Tranquil.
Inactive.
Speachless.
All dreams are broken.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem