Your Choice?

Alone I sit on the deep sea's floor,

And look up high once more.

"If happiness is... not for me" —

How many times must this be thought?

All things must have their price, it's true,

A price I pay, my whole life through.

"If joy is... not for me" —

This is my bleak reality.

Alone again, just my own mind,

What feeling will I find?

"If a smile... not for me" —

I must defend this misery.

In this dumb talk, this empty sound,

Let feeling to the dark be bound.

"If it's sad... not for me" —

Who am I? I cannot see.

In deep this, murky, sticky place,

I must give all of them their space.

"If it's void... not for me" —

I've vowed this constantly.

And in my guilt, my own dark crime,

I'll drown here for a long, long time.

----

It's funny. With the translation, the sound became more desperate. The emptiness of my poem turned into deep sadness. Maybe it's a matter of perception, or maybe it's because no one will perceive it?