Cold gray granite
rests upon this sullen earth;
A tribute to a great man –
Who knew nothing of himself.
The spirit chained by deceit,
and heightened with lies
for all he felt lacked;
poisoned with self-loathing.
A mask melded to his weathered face
to conceal a misplaced soul,
lost long ago to all the ruse;
better than to be revealed.
Like the burden of a heavy heart,
carrying on the life of an impostor,
but to discern truth from fiction;
he is no longer a capable man.
Harnessed by a yoke of angst,
riddled with craving for extol;
such resistance finally sealing his fate,
and dead men tell no tales.
http: //allpoetry.com/poem/4625231 (with picture)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem