Will is less than hope
--she said
This dream is never ending
You call from pools of innocence
Diluted by your grandeur
I scrape these crumbs in soiled piles
Crawling in my ditch
These meager tendrils keep me fed
These rags to clothe my itch
Prayer is for the dead
-she screams
A coffin for your nest
To pray to save to educate
To dream to disappear
I am
Only kind of here
But more or less
A ghost
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem