The stars are always so far away,
even the one that warms you.
Will there ever be a day,
where the light won’t be new?
Who do we pretend to be.
lost amongst our dreams?
The darkness that we can’t see,
tears apart our seams.
Stricken cold from the unknown,
our bodies lie in sand.
We’re merely dust the wind has blown,
out of the old man’s hand.
Rolling tears down his cheek,
contain his grain of salt.
Observe how he appears so meek,
when they are the ones at fault.
A wicked truth spreads its smile,
as lies are spat from ours.
When the truth’s been hidden for a while,
like milk it slowly sours.
These were the words of that wise man.
These were the words he shared.
These should have been the words of that wise man,
if he had ever cared.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem