as I lay wrestling with rest,
my soul leaks from my lungs,
it searches the night for you,
denies all the thoughts I've lied,
loneliness invites itself in once again,
the prodigal friend I've waited for,
kisses me softly on the cheek,
a knife poised at my back,
I fight dreams, the waking life,
and wonder if either truly exist
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Luke Hobbs. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.