Authors & Reviewers discussion

A poem from my book

WHERE I MEET MYSELF

Do the eyes of time read my story from the beginning to the end?

O sorry I thought the rainbow was a bridge with vivid sands.

I slip and fall off the rainbow's bridge every day.

I know your land is so far but I stretch my hand.

My fingers get icy though the sun is not dead.

I am in a waiting room where I meet myself.

Did my story begin from my birth or a bud's birth in a spring's green lace?

An infant bud grows to be a pale leaf in one autumn day.

It seems I lose my steps in the world's lands.

If not you, who will teach me to read the world's map.

Is the rainbow's edge too far for me to stand?

My story gets a chair in the waiting room where I meet myself.

Should I save my poem for a rainy day?
https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/wher...