There are people who, and I know not why.
With bitter heart dark deeds they ply.
The end they seek the power they crave.
Is taken from people encountered along the way.
With callus disregard they fill their cup.
And hoard every ounce and every sup.
While sowing pains seed void of remorse.
Wait for the harvest steady is their course.
The pen they hold a weapon in hand.
Spews out contempt for fellow man.
Thriving on the fruit of the kindest heart.
While bleeding dry with bitter heart.
We all have the pen and choose content.
Its up to each and try circumvent.
Sowing the seeds of bitter harvest.
And set to fire another mans forest.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem