So we pick up these wasted pens
And rub them against our throbbing fingers
So we start off with white
And turn nothing into words
So we press in letter for letter
And relapse into the stories of our past
So we forget the clock tick-ticking
And force our tunnel vision straight ahead
So we sail to the future islands
And kick back melancholy memories
So we lose our sense of purpose
And bewilder all those around us.
So we fix our mistakes
And begin our lives again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem