A empty promise set upon sunset blvd.
A single wish that never makes it to the shooting star.
A claim to that which doesn't even exist.
Smoke among a pitch black horizon.
If it is not visible is it even there?
A fickle placement of stones.
A monument soon to crumble.
And what will be left, a single thought, an conversial idea still standing?
I keep telling myself they are just words.
Syllables slung together at a moments notice.
And as time almost stands still, a tired rabbit will only run under extreme duress.
Strapped to a straight jacket in a lazy boy chair.
Feeding the punishing blows of a very lost ego.
Can it ever again be found in all these overwhelming shadows?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem