Forever standing in the shadows of everyone else's time,
forestalling the emptiness by trying to hold onto paper
people who bend with the slightest word, away from you.
Untenderly tied to another through the horrors of
matrimony, scaling the heights of total remorse.
Picturesque in scenery, only the make-believe seems to
obtain it's grateful rest - it's respite.
Dancing onward into oblivion, death will be it's only
haven from companionship.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem