does it have to make sense,
the words on my mind,
inside their a whirlwind of thought
and when their down, they slowly ease out
out to the surface, everyone sees them
standing there bare and naked on the cold paper or pixels
stranded in the pages of a book
or marooned on the deserted barren poet's wall
a place no one can ever breach
but no, it's not suppose to...
unfinished.....
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem