It can only be identified,
In this life...
As being what it is.
And many wish,
To re-label what exists...
As something different.
To perpetuate fresh arguments.
There will be debates updated.
With some left pouting,
To show a round of frowns...
Twisted down on poked out lips.
But...
It can only be identified,
In this life...
As beinf what it is!
And...
That is going to remain that way,
Until inventions are created and made...
To further confuse with dismay,
Our definition of satisfaction....
Some insist it fits and theirs to permanently stay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem