A pointless word, pushed through a pen
a dull idea, lies all but dead
soft spoken tunes form feelings from air
with unstable hands, a touch here, dab there
our hands, our thoughts, our ears, our mouths
all intertwined, tenuous webs, spun by spindle senses
a spin, the waves, a sway, the trees
highly original, one of a kind
we think of ourselves
forests rustle the precious ballets
birds chatter out the frailest duet
some words on some paper will never accomplish
what eyes can gleam and ears can snatch.
You can not write down a feeling
for a feeling must feel
all you can write is a breeze, a rainy tune
and hope the world will understand, impossible things.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You inspire me! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !