Fortune found me in my errors
The storm's blown off course
The swelling seas settle
Holes patched with duct tape
Hold strong, I float unharmed
Onto the tropical shore
Grandmother talks of gaurdian angels
She prays to the Mother Mary for me
Maybe unfounded, I fear
My good luck fate
Is tied tightly to her good faith
When her arthritic hands relax
From prayer for the final time
Have mercy I ask her God
And better and healthier
Ill try to live my life
That life which upto this point
I have squandered
Let there still be a fatted calf
For me the prodogial servant son
For I am God, I am Satan and I am Job
Such an unclear trilogy
With an unclear end
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem