If a pen could describe the storm in my heart,
then I would not be so much trouble.
If tears could bring an end to my worries,
I would cry my eyes out.
If I recruited a painter,
he could not capture the darkness that fills my chest.
Even the sharpest, newest lens
could not frame the fire that burns my soul.
For within me lies sorrow,
a worry no man can share;
as the horizon of the sea remains unseen,
so does the depth of the trouble in my heart.