Inked pen, observant emotion, play to time’s pass
Without direction of purpose of guiding compass
Amassing witness to fault and predilection
Littering a trail with words written in reflection
No purpose to remedy or solution
But meant to feed a yearning constitution
To expel from within toxins observed
Gained by worldly conditions that disturb
Ignored by disfavor to the portrait they paint
Having solidified the stench and the taint
Relentless the task endures despite failed recognition
For it has garnered the name: writing addiction
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem