I have lost the anger.
I have no inspiration
to take my words
and craft them into a twisted image
of my pain.
The tentatively laid foundation of
all I have become
is strong enough
for me to build upon now.
How can I bend my steel words
into hateful images
when all I see around me
is peace?
How can I try
to draw blood from wounds
that have healed?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Ah, it is good to see you again. A lack of inspiration, you say? I wouldn't have guessed. I'm looking forward to reading your new works.