When minds are already committed,
To unlimited delusions permitted...
That the inflicting of pain and sorrows to sustain,
Is no more than a game to disregard...
The value of life and the seriousness of it.
For the purpose to keep fantasies,
Alive to thrive...
As many maimed and wounded,
And others killed for the thrill and sport of it...
Leave those surviving left to wonder,
Where do such ideals originate to accept and exist.
And...
What price is paid to keep this deceit?
And...
Are we to get close to disclosing the answers?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem