As he’s sitting down on the curb
Broken, tired of losing everything he has
He sits up and takes a deep breath
He thinks of all he’s lost of what he use to have
Of the soul and spirit he use to have
Hes known as a failure and amounted to nothing
His memories of a cherished childhood is all he has left
That’s my nightmare.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem