When I stand before the mirror
to my horror
I find I have lost me
stares back at me
Sherlock
though I hate him
he warms up to me
takes me in his reins
morose eyes twinkly
gait sprightly
I become him
waken and in dream
memorizing his line
making his habits mine
like him I sprint
trails of footprint
and in all his fantasy
I'm no more me.
He scares
haunting in nightmares
one part
one heart
one role
He steals my soul.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sherlock - my favorite detective. He is very moody - but I love his intelligence, his deductive reasoning. His creator, Arthur Conan Doyle, was a brilliant man. Enjoyed your poem very much.