Signs of life fallen in an abyss, drunken with age,
scarred, broken, tired of earth.
Loud messages careen through eternity, asking for
something more, sliding into walls of steel, finding
there is nothing left to hold on to.
Universally being cautioned and prepared to fight an
endless battle, alone we go, hidden within ourselves.
There are no reasons for good and evil, it's just how
much pain and sorrow we can handle without frustration
which determines our level of combativeness in this
world.
Several dimensions of frustration cause different
degrees of complacent adaptability, all of us having
our individual tolerance to somehow deal with life
and it's myriad diseases and strife.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Not necessarily true at all! ! ! ! !