This is the Literature version of a sketch, just something I did when I was bored....
Look into the darkness, and see my face.
One of sorrow that you can't place.
of past events and sad endings
of willful time and truth bending.
shattered glass and broken dreams
This is I, or, so it seems.
Trapped inside my own past time
I make this flow, and make it rhyme.
A method to my madness? There is none.
And I won’t stop until I’m done.
Interesting this may be,
But I have to set these words free.
Meaning nothing, yet so much
Where is the point of this, there is none.
Walking miles, yet staying still
This is my life, but not my will.
Writers block is what is set
Trapped in my own world, is what I get.
Boring old life with no thrills
No reason for writing but I still have will.
When I get older this is what I want to be.
To master in letting all these words free.
.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem