All beyond improbable
is nearly in final stage
For rigors of the labor
results am yet to gauge
At helm while directing
in a muddle I seem lost
Caught in sort of vortex
my own demons I accost
A belief in old prowess
subsistence still directs
Belying any of the doubt
enroute which interjects
Almost at a tethers end
with upshot not in sight
The day brings new hope
each night begets a fright
Every jab at my foresight
pierces my real zest anew
To trudge upon unknown
and walked by far and few
It may though feel eternal
but not so bad in the end
Dark it may so appear now
but light is at coming bend
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem