HIS words were rusty,
his life standing behind
old, there was artficial
chatter coming from out
side, and a dancing light
my room.
HIS hands break these locks,
his legs push and push, until
they find forward,
his eyes open, then close, then
settle in this bipoler storm....................
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A great poem with a powerful ending. A fantastic write. May i invite you to read my new poem called, For Paul Blackburn. Its a true story.