A waterfall of empty salty tears
is rushing down my stinging cheek.
A careless slap restored my fears;
my strengthened soul now wanders weak.
In shadows of restraint I weep,
imploring freedom's might to guide,
but apprehension's knife cuts deep;
amidst seclusion's warmth I'll hide.
The ebony flow of ink will bleed
in pools of inspirations lost,
as hands of silence choke the seed;
my dreams and aspirations tossed.
Behind a wall of doubt I'll stand
until my self-esteem renews,
then passion's pen will guide my hand
erasing shades of black and blues.
Like the winds the tune did fade
Quiet where the young once played
And with a smile from ear to ear
He shed his last forgotten tear
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This poem is way too deep! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! TRY AGAIN! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !