You use to whisper to me the possibilities of opportunities.
But you shoved me into a box stole the key locked me away in the depths of my mind.
Now I am but a ghost a misty creature haunting a post, with my ghastly host I am smudging my inky expression all over the screen, smears of dead possibilities.
My digital fingerprints is evidence of
my poetic crimes, here is my sentence.
Poetic justice is swift and generous
my cage is the frame of this page.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem