I thought I’d write a bad poem, one for the ages, signifying nothing.
Pavement suffocates the living earth just as bad poetry fills volumes.
Still, oblivious to the land’s rape, the masses enjoy sentimental blathering,
And all is well since professional wrestling rules even sports columns.
It matters little that only a select few appreciate the immortality of verse,
Or that God's world festers in the aftermath of inhumanity's touch.
Bread and circuses even now in this age soothe ignorance's curse.
To hope men feel soft earth, the wind, and grass is to expect too much.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem