To find contentment in the little parts of life, the ones that
don't seem to matter.
Unimportant symbols filed under daily routines, unavailable in
the brightness of daylight.
Unapproachable from every aspect of decency and truth, yet
totally available to a soul of sorrow.
Laced, white, little tears of irony flowing down cheeks of
innocent beginnings.
Soundless, adorable, forgotten in the midst of a winter
storm.
Allowed no heat, no fire, to thaw a frozen heart, once
drowning in the tears of sorrow, laden heart held away from
life.
Thrown down a staircase, unrecognized, scarred by the
heartaches of childhood.
Left to find contentment in an uncontented world, stepping
aside, capturing the little particles of life in a sieve,
never held, even for a minute.
Unimportant parts, the ones that don't matter, stay with you
an eternity, never being able to turn them out.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Feelings of a bruised and abused little soul have been sketched in a remarkable manner in this poem. A great poem in your fantastic portfolio, Rose.