Basically, intrinsically, life tries to fit in with
what we think it is.
Always left hanging, because there are so many
versions of what life should be and we never fully
get a succinct definition.
Tribal thoughts crowd our minds, devouring barriers
to private stances in pathways of our lives.
Extant alleyways lead us into detours as we wend our
ways through mazes, attempting to fit in with our
desires and needs that we think we want.
Life is a reality, as it slaps us out of our reveries,
landing us on doorsteps out of imaginative dreams we
hold of life.
None of them true as we sit piningly alone, wondering
why not.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem