I close my eyes tight
And lift my head to the stars at night
I wish and hope and pray that they hold you
And I think they do
I’ve often thought
Can six stories kill a man
But you do it best
Our words clutter
Somehow stepping me back from the edge
And leaving my shame for the next
If I were a bird I would fly away
Plotting routs taking me away from you
Finding the worst places to stay
Where the green grass sways away
I will not glance back until I have lost the way
Being lost keeps me warm knowing
It keeps you safe
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem