The mediocracy of my life beguiles me
to the infinate possiblilities of my imagination.
The ever streaming concious thought
defers me from my past
Current flows of steaming emotion
staggar the fluent process of irradical passion
Something in my life seems amiss.
Why can i not make sence of myself?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Heather this is a very poignant read. And we do need to try to make sense of ourselves, but a lot of times it falls short of understanding. Thank you for sharing. Barbara