This is the time
To walk through it, alive.
Iv'e just enough left of me to get you off the ground,
Why stumble down?
Unless our music can reverse,
wait for your bar
And watch me playing through.
If i stop you'll hear the echo,
You won't remember what we're gonna do.
The time is wasted on me
you'll never see it, till it's gone.
leaving blood on your cheek,
from a kiss,
That leaves the pictures,
with twisted meanings, to sleep.
I can't make up my mined,
This indecisiveness is causing us to,
fade away like him:
Time;
Quicker than energy,
Thicker than your voice.
So weak, that scars can scare me.
So I stopped and ran, out of sink,
To carry you round.
Silence. No more screaming sound.
Small correction Mind.Nice poem though.i appreciate if you read my poems and leave some comments.Thank you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It is such a release that last line. The inherent pause is a large and helpfully silent one. Relief that the scars won't be seen anymore, that that screaming sound can't be heard again. The title makes me think of a time bomb on countdown, which is apt. It was hard to follow and that makes it better. Complexity of design shows complexity of crafter (and the person that is) .