It's 11: 30
and you're not home.
Mum called
and you didn't answer.
That hurt her,
but she's not the only one
left with the pain.
It's midnight,
and still no word.
Mum worries what you
might be doing with him,
and that hurt her.
But she's not the only one.
You still haven't
called,
and she starts to
cry from the
sting of reality
that you might leave her.
But she's not the only one.
I, too, feel the sting,
along with anguish,
as I give her part of my soul
to heal her weakened one.
And now my soul
is wasted away,
and I finally ran out of light
to give-I'm burned out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem