This cloud above us
Grey, bleak, dead
Drains us of life
Turns words to ash
Emotions run dry, and
Friendships wither
We are left as husks
Simply wandering
Shadows of who we once were
Dead, even with veins beating
No hope, no chance
Just a dull routine
We turn our heads to the sky
Wishing, always wishing
Remembering the sweet
Sunlight and cool spring air
Trying to grasp who we once were
But all attempts are in vain
Those persons are dead
Grey, bleak, dead...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem