A note to self
Anger serves no purpose
It doesn’t satisfy the wounded
It does not resolve the delinquent
It boils up like a festered infection
Running oozing pus, it runs despondent
In a stink causing an antisocial infestation
Initiating all to tread on broken egg shell
It curves a wedge in a work of soul partnering
It is the death of many, a lonely incarcerated state
Soon festers to include no one but an egotistical
Singular resentful state of unlikelihood to the lifeless
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem