Crocuses and daffodils signal spring,
And I feel so alive at the sight of yellow,
Pushing through the snow.
Summer ignites my turbulence.
The thunder roars to my voice,
Rain pours from thine eyes,
Lightening ejects through the fingers,
And wind toils at the cacophony of thoughts.
At the expense of my delusions,
The storm collides against this tree,
And my branches fall amongst the debris.
I realize I have no purpose left,
This, I feel like dying when the Ironweeds bloom,
For that is another cycle to what I have to lose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem