Facing away from the dying sun,
So you can't see me.
My shadow is casting downwards,
But it is faded.
I'll shout your name into the wind,
So you can't hear me.
And as waves come crashing down
I will repeat it.
I will whisper to the world,
Just to avoid you.
I will repeat it in my head,
Just to make it true.
And I will spit on burning fire,
To try and put it out.
But the flames just reach up higher,
As I choose not to shout.
As winter stumbles into spring,
I see your face is fading.
Yet my lips will remained sealed,
Until this open wound has healed.
There's no way on earth you could know,
Because then I'd have to let go,
Of this ironic type of hope;
This comfortably binding rope.
So I'll just remain silent.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.