the degradation, of once was flapping wings
sitting in a tree, the voice sings
once soaring high, and flying fast
so prolific, the rancid air made for impossible tasks
turning everything into salt
pounding hammers, the most vexatious of sounds
drawing my attention ever so closer to something clever
like a jigsaw puzzle, with a missing piece
so masterful, so incomplete
more chemical burns
flesh from your bones
raving on and on and on
about nothing at all
ranting, wanting, haunting
gluttony, behaving so badly
wanting rewarding this behavior with red in eyes
dreams fail, dreams fade,
awakings succeed and always will
but what is all this about
is all this a crock
its so the truth,
its so the truth
its so the truth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem