When we're young,
We think the World,
We can just conquer,
Change troubling Oceans,
Into positive streams.
As we get older,
We lose our thunder,
And sadly realize,
That all remains as it seems,
There are no miracles whipped by words,
That will fulfil the idealist's dreams,
We're but Fools, trying to fix,
The devil's dirty bag of tricks.
A weird kind of peace can be attained when you recognize futility. I am just reaching that point- -concerning politics. Your poem shows that you're not quite ready to concede... and I applaud you for that.
Take that bag and tip from level pour that crap back on the devil Make a new bag and fill it well of all that's wonderful, kind and swell!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
yes there are sth that we think can be easily conquered in our juvenile years.............but when we put on the gown sewn by time.............we realize what's the truth and how foolish we were..............very nice presentation of thoughts...........great job.