Why the language
Not my own,
Not from my land,
Not in my garden,
A cold, simple language?
It is my boundaries
And also my tools,
A mixture of leverage and numbing.
It's a strange stranger language,
Unnatural to me as a third eye
Yet, still, it improved my sight,
Enhanced me,
Enlarged me,
Ridicularized me,
For the sake of my pride,
At the cost of my sleeping hours,
A joke waiting to happen,
A trap I've built
And which I'll fall.
Feb 5, 2019
Feb 5, 2019 at 9:54 PM UTC
Why the language
Not my own,
Not from my land,
Not in my garden,
A cold, simple language?
It is my boundaries
And also my tools,
A mixture of leverage and numbing.
It's a strange stranger language,
Unnatural to me as a third eye
Yet, still, it improved my sight,
Enhanced me,
Enlarged me,
Ridicularized me,
For the sake of my pride,
At the cost of my sleeping hours,
A joke waiting to happen,
A trap I've built
And which I'll fall.
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