A knock at the door...
NO. I can't answer,
not any more.
This dream...
I hate it.
It always plays out the same.
This bed...
I'm stuck,
to petrified to move.
My heart...
It skips a beat,
as I unwillingly get to my feet.
Suddenly...
I'm at the door.
Deja vu plays out,
I've been here many times before.
This dream...
I hate it.
It always plays out the same.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Open the door next time, It's me! Great write. Linda