Astral incantations feed the breeding of meditation within constraint.
We lay upon the brink of insanity, sinking beyond the call of vanities restraint.
An Oasis of tranquillity beckons us into the shade, fading, wading
Through endless dreams we are naught but ripping at the seams of
A reality sewn tight by the hands of Fate in her spinning. Against
The tides we stride in futility, know the need for passivity in the
Undertakings of your day, know that you can make it your way.
Dreaming your dreams, saying the things you feel you have to say.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem