Apparently I'm meant to be on a break from poetry
but it isn't going at all well
was told it was going to be easy
but even thinking about it hurts like hell
Some may class it as a blessing
others a terrible curse
when I wake up in the afternoon
hungry for the line and verse
I want to be on writing run forever
never wanting it to come to an end
even if it keeps me awake at night
and costs me many fake friends
Maybe I will take a break from poetry
when I finally soar into the sky
when the scythe man comes knocking
I may only give it up when I die
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem