Sometimes I feel so troubled by nothings.
Running, stumbling, crawling, back up, back down.
To wake and feel something hurt, is to live
and realise that your not invincible to the
triumphs and tragedies of any love or heart.
With love, you must accept the pain of the
imperfections, nothing is healthy nor solid.
My conflictions are always my own creation
supported by the difficulties I have willingly
allowed my wrist to be led by the menace that is fate.
O, so much anguish that swims inside my tomb,
I wake and hear nothing, yet sleep and there are voices
in a room, I did not rest my head in.
I became an over night master of messing things up,
for myself, congratulations, what's next?
We cannot fix if we accept that cracks are
life's own personal signatures, no,
I refuse to let us, become victim to sadness,
we are and were better than this, love can be,
if we want it to be, the solution to all the
difficulties.
If neither of our hearts wish for an ending,
then we do not have to write our final chapter.
I find it difficult to preach about something
I don't believe,
but I believe in you,
and I believe in me.
So, love, grab my hand and tell me what
I must do next.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem