my poetry is done
I cannot say much more
have I been clear enough
I've said it all before
I do not know what waits
I cannot fear the void
and I have few regrets
for a life I have enjoyed
still I will die a skeptic
torn beyond my belief
my logic nor my mystic
can serve to grant relief
I lived my life on hunches
I heard the preachers preach
and yet the facts elude me
a man can only reach
the poet said of glory
that we may sense its door
but never grip the latch
till death concludes its chore
to solve the final doubt
some look to God and trust
still skeptics feel secure
that the Universe is just
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem