Living with the madness of life as a human being, we
are driven to do things to occupy our minds, bodies,
beings.
At times failing to do anything, yet somehow we make
it through until we again begin doing something to
help ourselves.
Justifying and plying life with so many ideas and
concepts, bringing fruition into minds of bright
awakenings.
Wrapping our intellect's around prospects that are
contained in abstract concepts beyond the reach of
others.
Asking nothing from anyone, just continually think-
ing, staying obscure in this life until one day being
fully discovered and honored, only happening after
death I'm afraid.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem