Weary eyes and heavy looks.
Breath taken aback and told he's aging.
Vicarious youth, envying the fresh and spritely.
Neck turned by the wandering mind of the vagabond owner.
Silently miserable.
Time taking its toll on his brow.
His eyes vexed, forever tortured by accurséd light where once bright,
Are now dim and faded,
Jaded and callous eyes,
Lathered on a persuaded visage of false joy.
A pyramid of lies.
All lies, told to keep his soul quieted.
Keeping his soul from jolting,
Jumping right out of his skin.
Sticking to jobs to preoccupy a mind so long lost.
He reeks of insanity,
Yet I can thank no other being for the kindness born into this world.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem