You know not my ambitions,
nor for what I strive -
Tis' not with your creditions
and never, naive
shall you know, only guess
At what I, most noble of beings possess.
It is the knowledge of your life
how to better you from your strife.
Your mind broken, from a sleeping arrow,
to pierce your heart like a streaking sparrow.
No, not love, in its affection,
It instead flirts you with dread derilection.
You strive to be all the world,
but the world scorns thee, so
give up on the world...
Nay, I say, I only jest,
give the world your most wholy,
worldly, restly best,
ignoring your ignored request.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem