We have designed a rocket to burst into pieces,
When Satan has his influence we are madder and worse;
We accept the one that derives a guiding heart,
Our hopes are exploding the heart and its tart.
This chance is awakening the head and brain,
To be afraid is to be succulent, like the briefest muscle.
My actions are like rain and hail, my thoughts are powder,
And the words invoked by my soul are hard links to society.
Listen to the chances of my young heart, entailed is the burst
Of my blood and might, wearing out the heart and head.
The one who derives a healing is master of his soul,
In despair is the one who learns of power and thoughts.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem