It's like the way
I run all day in fear
or how impatiently
I stomp and kick
or bend and stretch,
(that nimble hiding trick)
or stand and shift
until the end draws near.
I sense the ache
and yet it isn't till
my feet are up, relaxed,
I feel the pain.
The pressure's off my heart.
no muscles strain,
yet still the torment swells
beyond my will.
So I apologize,
admit I'm wrong,
commit to follow through
to make things right
because I AM sincere
and not contrite,
yet still your anger glares on
just as strong.
All's fixed and yet
we're back where we've begun,
'cause nothing's finished
till the feeling's done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem