Love is a poem in itself.
It screams for help.
The lonesome cry can't be ignored,
You are adored.
You do not know this, you always forget...
How I feel.
These feelings kill.
You eyes wonder whom to blame, it's all the same.
You find your puppet, to take the stuffing from the coldness of the lonely heart it's bogus.
I stand for help, it's all that's left.
My lonesome heart has been through hell, the end tell-tale.
Don't sip my words; don't eat my thoughts.
I tell the end, and which is fought.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
No, this is astonishing. I can't believe this. It leaves me speachless. I would love to meet you