No tears or pigmented fluid
Can erase the scars of soul.
No simple words can do the undone
Stuff, if love should rise and illuminate the heart.
No heart is a game of fake love
For the cracked part of the heart
Is still, like the weather of Fall
Gently falling, gently rising.
@ Welkin Siskin
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such a prize poem, Welkin............................