B'neath this thought of dimmered ideas...
Is the thought of lessened idle these.
How may i search for answers to problems not sought? ...
Why must i try to wrought not sought?
What have i begun...
A road that leads not to a clearing of fun.
What bushells to Hell will i entrust? ...
What be the crust of what i must?
What must be is what not must...
This is the quest that i must not trust.
Is this idea good and just? ....
Should i seek out what i must?
Was all done as if a bust? ...
This fact not i do know or trust.
Regret eats at my gut as an acid let loosed....
I in the end am proud and well happly charged and juiced.
All be it used as well as reused.
All Hell, what is the use, that i am forced to deduce as mused.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem