There is no good reason to let anger grow.
The ones who are empty will remain
That way, lost in their own foggy lives,
As if the thick white cumulous is a
Gorgeous suit to dwell in. They live as poets,
Yet think as philistines on the wrong road,
hopelessly drunk with all that they lack,
Led by eyes as blind as grim stone,
In the night darker than the worst human fears.
So what does one do but watch and let the eyes
Come clean; let pupils reveal their dim-witted truths.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.