Laborious for no worthy gain,
Spat on by the Imps of pain,
All for naught, this effort seems,
As noted in my nightly dreams.
To please my fellow man,
Scarcely e'er was my plan,
For myself this life be lived,
To him, no answer shall I give.
In the sea of Apathy,
I find my resting place.
In a twisted sense it seems
An alleviating Grace;
Upon the shores of Counsel,
My burdens do I cast,
To prance along down Solace,
Forsaking all things past;
In the face of Effort
I toss my malcontent,
In the feilds of Wisdom,
My time of day is spent.
No regard for Effort
for which there is no gain,
Upon wings of Apathy I soar,
Free of guilt and shame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem