Death makes everyday another risk,
Life is just another rewound disk,
The mountains that we climb,
The times that we’ve cried,
It all comes together like day verses night,
The times the visions all grow white,
The pain that happens when the person cries,
And I’ll be sitting here bored out of my mind,
Living my life with broken eyes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem