It eats at my soul
This haunting pain
A past as black as coal
Revealed by a stain
Life is but a hallway...
Doors painted scarlet red
A warning of the dangers ahead
Yet we see it as a dare
running through it without a care
We question why life is this tough
We ask; 'where's the love? '
Yet...
The future may not be as bleak
The voices of discouragement are that of a heartless freak
One that targets the weak
Like a sick, demented creep
No life is but a hallway
With a door, upon a door
And each and everyday
It reveals more
Always an adequate amount
Pushing the boundaries of what we are able to surmount
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem