What says a reflection,
to this portrait of skin.
Each grains lying response,
yeilding what would rather not be seen.
What does a face look like,
to the soul underneath.
What does a mouth do,
to speak what's inside.
It's a piteous picture,
we paint for ourselves,
the colors, artificial,
and the feeling, a lie.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i love it! ! ! very nice. i give it a ten. 'It's a piteous picture, we paint for ourselves, the colors, artificial, and the feeling, a lie.' this part stood out to me. and what a great metaphor.