Everyday goes by,
I grow older,
Everyday passes,
I think of what I did,
And think if I had wasted the day,
Thinking if there's something I done wrong,
Trying to make a change,
But seeing I'm nothing more then a object,
What is this feeling,
Of being useless?
Maybe it's just me,
Or maybe it's not?
Who knows,
No wait,
I know,
But I'm afraid of the truth,
Because I know the truth can hurt,
Someone guide me through this,
Someone help me,
Before I go,
And sweep away,
This is not being sad,
This is being hope.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Know what you mean fellow poet, liked this, nice write.