Precipitate The Futility Poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo

The futility,
indeed somber in purpose.
But it isn't mean,
No intention in the definite to
climb up,
but it means a lot.

At the discretion of the game,
such as hear the clink of
the opposite,
always breeds silence.
Dripping dew, frosted glass
windows, sound preaching
weather reporter,
news cutouts case
never ended.
Is a row between hope
and futility that never ended.

Like a tramp butts
are picked up
every memory,
we play in the speck of
space and time.
When we begin to interpret,
if this brings with patronizing
arrogance, what does
it mean to live this?

Everybody got a problem,
make our mind walking thru.
Imsonia, the middle of
the night unable to
sleep, or loss of memory,
so blessed are the senile
who returned reconstruct
memories about everything,
including hope and futility.

Reconstruct and precipitate all.
Maybe to be a personal meaning.