At times life looks
like a small black hole
offering no feedback
nor receiving
letting you wonder
do I call this world home
you think
what compels me
to vanish in a darkness
with the pull of a black hole
did you ever
see Run, Joe, Run?
it was over by 76
and I'm not young
sometimes I'm like Joe
constantly running away
run, man, run
shouts everyone
I'll tell you I stop
to find a way back
when I find a wall ahead
similar to the Chinese one
high and fat
one I'm not able to cross.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem