The lines cross like motorways,
And the rain leaves splashes on the roads,
There are no cars,
Just the pen,
Coating the paper in ink,
As sweat drips of my palm,
And splashes like bullets onto the paper.
I have had the experience of that, thinking almost the same, bullets and all. Good poem H
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi Nick...very nice read. Yes...I have felt this also...very nice read. You have very neatly captured this in precise wording.... Lare Austin