My Truth
The untruths like a spiderweave entangle me,
they crucify me - a robber near to Jesus.
stands in the air question not asked
and as if I'm a beggar...
I'm begging emotions of the day,
but I do not the gray pink,
on the cross every morning I stand up -
simple, without a theatrical posture.
And I'm nailing my feet myself,
I suffer my victory with pain,
that I stand alone among the curves concepts -
crucified, but I never worship...
translation from Bulgarian: the author
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
