Red, red wine
Splintered my sides
Some years ago.
When hope was beautiful / possible.
When my trees of potential were so fruitful.
Before I felt the stone-cold hand
Of reality
Tap me on the shoulder.
There is no sweet solution.
Explosions of comforting words
Do little to extract this pain
When they fall upon deaf ears.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem