I run through the gauntlet of life,
stripped of my suit of armor.
I’m exposed to each wrenching blow,
but given no badge of honor.
My mind is a purgatory,
condemning me for eternity.
Society’s broken me down
and promised me only lies.
Past regrets have poisoned me,
kindred to Napoleon.
And in my age of anxiety,
everything I do feels like a sin.
But I adhere to my hope.
Even when the bad grows worse,
I seek my remedy
in the form of a heroic verse.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You are so brazen- as befits such an ingenious writer. Go for it, is all I can tell you; keep on writing: We're all ears (or eyes) ! !