It is not that I demand,
Truth to say it.
With it spoken to me.
Liars to have known them,
Has never been a mystery.
It is the lieing heard too much I hear.
Coming from people far and near.
Who make it clear.
They have no respect for themselves.
And that forces me,
Not to have that for them either.
Why should I waste what I have to give,
When the doing of it...
Is neither known nor is it recognized.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A good write my friend.++10