Water trickling into pools of sadness, evaporating from salted
piles of dust.
Tear ducts being overly used with many questions being asked
and answers never given in any reason or shore of sight.
Picking up on tangible thoughts as they trickle along with
sightful insight and beauty.
Fixating on points of horizons while trying to stand alone
again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem