I wish I had
more heinous sins to hide
for all the grief I suffer
and for what?
Reflecting back
past follies pierce my pride.
Aflame in shame,
my heart hides in my gut.
Who in their twenties
isn't foolish, lewd,
at thirty striving,
forty-five irate,
by fifty overwhelmed,
at sixty rude,
by decade seven bitter,
scared by eight?
We act polite, mature,
refined and fair,
but under pressure
we go just so far
until we snap,
each soul stripped bare.
At every moment
we are who we are.
We're liable forever,
but to live
we have to stop,
reflect,
ourselves forgive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem