To what extent I found myself
Dreaming of the impossible
As if it would be cherished
By those who felt me nowhere
It is my world and I created it
For my senses to enjoy
And live beyond imagination
Stored in my soul
I long enough to be a writer
As if i'd write my life
To whatever comes the trials
I know I will survive
I have come towards the misery
When I know I deserve it
And the love I hate to feel
is the love that ends the riot
The blank page is never mine
But the fate depends on time
The adventures of the writer
Is the life I long to rhyme...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem