My throat, be it dry to swallow I cringe
untouched, thy thirst in lonesome fear.
Wilt thou bring forth a gluttons binge,
and reign like a Queen in golden-wear.
Imagination be the jealous of many,
As I sit self smiling in sombre space.
Stepping out of once the land of plenty,
Laughter sounds behind thy rigid face.
Dream old dreams, long time doth past,
A nostalgic remembrance, scenes to sea.
Peace has come back to me thoughts at last,
warmth of serenity like a glove covers me.
I return in that miniscule space of time
though thy thirst has yet to be quenched.
My pleasure was never meant to rhyme,
As I sat in the park, on that broken bench.
Written by: Melvina Germain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem