How is it that the blind can see distances,
And the mute speak volumes over words?
Why is it every time I get ahead, I am farther behind
Now days the truth is a thing of the past.
Lies seem to make us better friends then we were before,
And yet we insist on hurting each other.
Leaving these invisible scars and bruises,
Marked not on skin but rather the soul.
Where instead of blood falling and crashing to the ground,
Its hope we see that stains the floor with nothing.
Because our dreams, prayers, truths, lies and hope is invisible, like nothing
And like nothing, we’ll ever see before.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
THis one is ok, I liked the other one better.