When one demands control,
Over their own demise.
Few in the know are not surprised.
Neither do they anticipate,
A prolonged undertaking.
Or blink to miss,
That drive to madness.
One stubbornly insists.
Since they know what has begun,
To begin.
Began,
At a neck breaking speed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem