My life's in the closet,
Not down the tubes...
For I refuse to look into
that proverbial mirror,
of disappointments, of
lies, of satisfactions,
that really were defeats...
From that closet, I'll speak...
I carry the weight of my
generation, Who's Lost...
clownin' and wildin' around,
We're not found... to be of
any self-worth, From birth
we had no direction... In God
we trust, No reflections of
our struggles and loss...
In this closet, Vanity's boss...
With inconsistencies of life,
bearing down like a Tsunami...
The chaos of men and strife
eats us alive with ease...
Eager to please those of destruction,
We function without feeling...
A Raging Inferno, touting
'I'm Bad'... We're sad and out
of control, Lost sheep from a
strange fold... Who don't want to
do right? 'Children of the Night'
For their closets, shun all Light...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem