To succumb unto a scope of darkness
And loyally lounge with fire, parlous;
Is to whelm beneath your sorrow, cleanly,
Desert at your door a limp love bleeding,
And plug your soul's chasm as you fall, heartless.
To draft these words which drain me like leeches,
And slowly siphon wisdom that teaches,
Drives me to reveal this notion I've found:
It's harder to fall from holes in the ground,
Than it is to seize thoughts, lost without leashes.
To wonder just once of things left unseen,
And gracefully gather those that you've been,
Invites and ignites ripened discussions
Which fade and evade doomed repercussions,
'til sadly, you think you've found a true friend.
To slumber through tides that turn with the dawn,
And fly over trees, of which you've been fond,
Then to grouse and grieve, but never succeed,
Is to faithlessly fail sweet dreams, indeed.
So wrought, you worry if your mind's not all gone.
To fret for nothing becomes a design,
And rampant regretting just wastes your time;
Recalling, enthralled, that Truth's always central.
That is simply sad and sadly simple,
But perhaps we'd all rather like to stay blind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem