If sometimes these wind-spies apply any generic emotion
Then let them be all emptied on a never surfacing ocean
Recall all the memories of dragon flying monkeys showing
All their bestial talents hidden in the forest
I will say this mayhem is people in a free river building their May
Dams
If Summer wrinkles crinkle at the notion of fall bestowing
Up-showing images of the soul glowing and groaning
Will these seasons compete and to what goes the victor
What view can be harnessed while in the midst of despising
I say these trying times are people vying for their lives at the price
Of truth lying
If the beat goes on and the world drums her song in slow motion
Then let the hearers game kill slaughter and pause for laughter
Latter days these can be confusing seeing how some play by the rules
While witnesses true never object to abusing for their gain
I may question this kind of amusement that the blind eye can bring
Much gain by laying colorful rotten eggs
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem