Another calendar
torn off the wall
tossed into the trash
at this point
there is no reason
to ask 'why? '
Where is there to go?
As if life is a straight path
with a destined destination
when we walk on a spherical planet
which spins in circles
Believe it or not
we're only lying to ourselves
when we look down upon
those brave individuals
whom smile while standing
still
They are the prophets
They are the ones
whom figured out
how to walk on water
only to get pummeled
with stones
or hung in the gallows
This is not a truth we want
They're truth is the fear we have
when looking in the mirror
only to find an ugly reflection
staring back
because there actually
is no where to go
We're already there
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem