The retooling of minds,
Overtime steeped to marinate...
In the comfort of nonsense.
And too much foolishness,
That has become too stale...
To rejuvenate,
Is without debate a waste of patience...
For those who have been asked,
To forget the past by grasping onto tasks...
That will assist those limited in consciousness,
To step up to the plate.
And at least attempt the faking,
Of hitting homeruns with a wanting it done.
Before the game 'they' play Is over!
With no empathy left from those heard who 'boo'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem