I was lost and lonely among a crowd
And not wishing to be, or to talk, or be found.
Without zest for life, I existed not living
Exhausted and tired in spite of my sleeping.
Colour was draining from me and all beauty
I languished in limbo, my actions were laboured,
And trudged with half steps it now seemed toward scaffold
Shuffling in shackles that kept their tight grip hold
Exterior wounds had caused internal bleeding
Emotions now thawed that for lifetimes were frozen
A poacher had threatened my reason for being
Slew young of a beast that was quietly sleeping
An outlaw I knew then appeared before me
With doc martin boots and Mohican stood glaring.
I loved him and feared him for all that I knew him
But seeing bright skies in the distance I left him.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Absolutely an excellent write... lucidly drafted. Top score.