I find myself in perpetual repose,
submerged in the dark, the deep, a wondering;
where might I go to feel as i'm surpose?
What is it, I wonder, to feel morose;
and if felt, what would it be I'm feeling?
I find myself in perpetual repose,
with fingers on my chin thinking at those
who seem to be gleefully absent of thinking;
where might I go to feel as I'm surpose?
Is there a special place everyone goes?
I cannot see, for whenever I'm looking
I find myself in perpetual repose.
I could take my soul and with my mind dispose
as I sit here calmly reeling, pondering;
where might I go to feel as I'm surpose?
I'm doubting now I'll ever come close
to whatever they are, it is, that thing.
I find myself in perpetual repose,
where might I go to feel as I'm surpose?
- Samuel Richard Leonard
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem