I see a broken boy who’s confused about what’s real and fake.
He wanders if when he dies if he will actually wake.
He cries out for love, but finds that no one will answer his prayer.
Because he never faced the reality that there was no one ever there.
He waits and waits for the day ov judgment to see if he can live.
He waits, and waits, and waits, and waits, and asks “Will God forgive? ”
He sits in the darkness that surrounds his mind,
And asks himself is this real or am I just blind?
Will his question ever be answered?
I think not for his mind is cancered.
I swear I can still hear his cries.
I can still hear his painful sighs.
Burning in the fire he never had a chance to rise.
This life was never to be…
For this broken boy is…
Me…
Existence and all it's questions...gifted artists and poets have often asked these questions anf felt alone. You must be one of them, Steven.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
amazing piece i thoroughly enjoyed it