Free from the dread of mortality, the paralytic mind;
unengaged, in life's everyday posturing for position,
dis-cognizant to the reality, of their own distant world
with no exceptions beyond their own exclusive domain.
They can be whoever they want to be...even themselves,
simply by believing they are, because security is warmth,
as they harbor their images in a place called, ''far-away''-
from logic, reason, and common rule of cause and effect.
An' blessingly, these innocents will never taste the bitter
of shame nor broken pride.......for that'd be far too cruel.
And outside these minds stand we, the helpless 'an angry,
burning, stinging with angst- equal pity for they and self.
When in fact these souls in wait may be the only ones-
aside from Alex Garland, to experience Tir Na Noga
in this strange yet serenitous prelude to Death!
FjR-MMXIV
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem