Disappointments and frustrations are the vessels consuming
every waking thought.
Wrestling with the currents from the gates of Hell.
Swallowing the rusted chewed up memories of the silence as
Monday is speaking from within its tongues is of a hideous truth.
Now the crumbled seclusion of your hidden soul within the
loneliness of depravity.
Moral inequities are no longer justifiable only justice of the
righteous.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem