Firm hand
blood darkening
truth blinding, binding us all downwards
into the depths of places dodged.
We destroy beautifully,
behind detachable desks, filling lives brazen.
Our air heavy for 'wanting'
our sensibilities mass produced
until reality becomes 'product' -
humanity unrecognisable,
hope traded with the change of each season.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem