Our book is a blank canvas
We have drifted off the words we wanted to paint
A war within;
Insides screaming;
Clashing swords of hope and despair
Yet our voices fail,
There's nothing to say.
Blank stares, eyes melting away into defeat
The silt in our throat grows
Chokes up our entirety,
We cannot breathe,
We bottle it up,
Throw it into the ocean of grief
Waves rise high and return it back
Return it to the desolation that cradles us.
Shut the door and we burn ourselves within
Fueling the flame with distance and desperation
Ashes of our memories,
That's what is left of us.
Dust in the wind of time,
Time, that doesn't wait for us.
We turn another page,
blank, silent still.
Lost for words.;
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem