all things are meant
to be finished
journeys always have
end destinations
there is always a
titration point
a place where people
end their race
some people take their
rest and say
oh, we're finished
a precious crystal
finally breaks and not
a day is wasted
all mortals die and
that the meaning of its
being
some keep their masks
of denial
hungry and thirsty still
lost forever.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem