The end of every man is sure,
the path they take there is the quiz,
when timely tears torment memories,
and choices ghost openly in conscience,
for chances passed and actions taken,
when all recede but the self in man.
The end lurk in the shadow of thought,
controllable chaos of concave calls,
the child of the viper is now poison,
the falcon of atonement is sailed,
the light drained in salient gloom,
the man sees the path.
The man chokes in pointless relent,
chokes the pangs of a paradise lost.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem