Great things come when you wait.
Until you realize your true fate.
At the final hour she shows her part,
Ripping up your soul.
Devouring you whole.
You're left to your own devices.
Or that's when your turn to vices.
Unless you can find some peace.
Recovering the fragments, at least.
Heal it together; with some glue.
Every piece should matter, especially to you.
And when you find peace of mind,
Return and see that some are kind.
Treat them right and this- you'll find.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem