on my way
back from the cemetry,
crying and feeling desolate,
i guess that’s when it began;
haunting me to this day,
i curse myself and wonder
why i stopped when
others did not;
through the wind and the rain,
in a world that i long to be in,
day in and day out,
used and thrown away;
if only we could make a life
of what we dream,
there would be no heaven
and no need for (a separate) hell;
a fragile soul caught in the hands of time
dying a little everyday
i know a change is gonna come
there’s a place i am going to
as i keep chiseling away
to carve out a life that is mine
i find that place is right here
within me;
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem