Despite the hatred of the world,
That we yet seem to find:
Everywhere, with pain manifold,
And tears that render selves blind.
Despite contempt and despising:
Those who their promises broke,
And lingered long but mesmerizing:
Whom have tried them to provoke.
Despite the anger and the fear:
That always assemble in one nightmare;
Hence we end up fighting what isn't here,
But hidden within our shunned despair.
Despite the loneliness and too the dark,
Despite the parting eyes:
That hearts do melt then make them stark;
As miracles rise from mere demise!
Despite the memories, despite the grief:
That fills voids with hollows bittersweet,
And makes life but a candle brief:
Lit not to solace yet a single defeat.
Despite the rather ruptured ruth,
Despite the soothing songs:
That bring but obscure words of truth,
Thus make souls not belong.
Despite the lost battles and the various scars,
And all unhealing wounds alongside agony;
Despite the lying lull at but the distant stars,
And the slowly fading dreams in which everyone's free.
Despite such dark and monstrous things:
That forge one but forlorn;
There shines scant hope that rapture brings,
Alway in every morn!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem