the days are slowly passing
bye
i sit in this house
locked up inside
some say i am hiding
others think i have lost
my mind 
the neighbors stand 
and stare
they wonder what 
is going on in there
the shades are drawn up 
for the evening light
i see their faces
the moving of their
lips
they are like junkies 
waiting for a fix
what do they want of me 
what more do i have 
left to give
they all think i am
insane 
for they don't know 
or feel my pain
the day he died i have 
never been the same
what would they think 
what would they do
if they saw me standing
with Mr Smith & Mr wesson
looking strait down the
barrel of a 22
do they have a clue 
do they really care
that i know longer 
want to be here
im counting down the 
days that i will soon
see you                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                     
                
My dear friend...speaking from personal knowledge....a quiet walk alone in some special place is a spiritually soothing experience. And I write for pretty much the same reasons. So please do keep writing.....and walking....both..with vigor. My departed loved ones..are consistently near me...in thought...and feel! Please read 'Is Not...Perception....Reality.' Take care..and..be well.