Is it what makes you laugh?
What makes you cry?
Is it elevated thoughts you read out in time?
Is it a bunch of words that go together and ryhme?
Come on, tell me what it is?
Poetry is climbing out of a big black hole,
Poetry is what saves your dying soul.
Poetry is regurgitating that bad quiche you ate.
Poetry is what moves your dying state.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem