planting violets in the night
and nothing in the world seems right
I feel I must give up the fight
I fear that I may die
the musketeers and robin hood
have left the hero neighborhood
without them I can do no good
although I often try
sometimes I feel that I'm a clown
and still the stars keep spinning ‘round
and down is up and up is down
and bound I cannot fly
I can't escape I can't let go
of all the things I wished to know
so tossed within the flux and flow
I say this with a sigh
a melody from outer space
and memories I would not erase
yet come to me in this dark place
though time may pass me by
but I'm still calm and realistic
conversing with my inner mystic
while ciphering my lost logistic
to search the darkened sky
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You reach by that poem here, dear Barry, the limits of of the anxious soul of human being.It is the only being who created such a civilization because it thinks of the meaning of its death.