Looking hard into the future, seeing damage that has been
done in the end.
All dreams having turned into nightmares of another time
during sleepless nights.
Crawling on all fours, barely making it into the beginning
of a fateful destiny.
Collecting all possibilities, placing them on photographic
screens where they can abstractly be turned into ideas of
another questionable design.
Being patterned and woven into exacting positions where no
one else can become what another means in life.
Purposes are only individual in centers of our souls and
can never be given to anyone else.
Loving the questionable side of life and holding onto it's
potentially famous individuality.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem