Attempt
I hurt, but I do not love. The drummer
beats but the skin is stretched over
solid bone. I can imagine no sorrow greater
than to squeeze a diamond till it would
shatter, revealing no tears. And the sorrow is
that the pain is spent on barren soil
yielding only rocks and cinders under
constant toil.
Good attempts. Good poem.
(but I’m not ready for that level of understanding in English)
Really, it sounds like a very good poem.
I think it’s the best poem I ever wrote. However I call it attempt partly because I couldn’t hold it together enough to get things right linguistically(?) . An English teacher could tell you.
That’s really beautiful and bleak, pob. Very good.
■■■■■■■ righteous POB… beautiful work