Poetry seems to be falling asleep
Right at the moment my soul wishes to speak
for my heart grieves
it has been riddled by bullets of betrayal, confusion, lovelessness and loss of control, permanently rendering me, nocturnal
I used to believe was the essence of souls freeing themselves from desolation, instead I lie bed ridden, nocturnal
By Candis Johnson
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem