After everything, I have learnt.
Whatever you set a spark to,
will only crash and burn.
So why waste time making fires,
and gathering fuel for your desires,
when you can be happy with the trees,
and never be expired.
For all the hope you gather,
and for all the bliss you find,
you ask yourself what is reality,
and was it all in the mind?
For everything we hope and dream,
pulls apart at the seams,
I thought, except for you and me,
but yes, also you and me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem