Endless are the hours of life, tucked between years of
sacrifice.
Branched out into all facets of the universe, spent on
exaggerating truths.
Euphemisms standing out in front of every fact, believing
themselves to be intact.
Only the forging of every wakeful second brings about any
truth and birth continues every day, receiving it's own
destiny.
Fallen, as from skies of heaven, brought together here on
earth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem