let life live, yet death die young,
Forever alone are the words I've sung,
I'm wondering now, If that hym was wrong,
perhaps a heart I still have,
somewhere within this dying body,
miniscule, hardly a grain,
so small its there, trying to supress it's all been in vain,
I'm losing to love, its winning by a heart,
it's growing each day, I'm learning to accept that part.
I might let you in, I might fall again,
I promised myself, but my will is so bent,
Your words are all I needed to accept a heart once more,
Hopefully this time its more than, just a score.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
No words can describe the vulnerabality I sense between the lines. It's like an argument one's having with himself. May you find the solution...