Distanced by dreams,
of yesteryears life,
Days come and go,
like a waves short life.
Hours slip through thoughts,
As sand slips through fingers.
I wish the world would slow.
Time to think and plan for tommorow.
As eyes succumb to the weight of the night,
Morning emerges with it's sharp light.
Days drift into new days,
each one a stage of plays.
There is no time to look and to love,
Faces flash by with eyes to the ground,
I am not hereI make no sound.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.