Equality of life hangs in an unknown balance, teetering on
the edge of all existence.
Whirling about on the twisted cisterns of unreliable virtue,
hammering out a cadence in step with reality.
Great havoc, piercing armor of life-long pity, swallowing
with difficulty, measures of truth and justice in our
society.
Sincere efforts are paltry compared to the ineptitude of
finished epistles.
Standing on the very edges of past fruitlessness, we are
washed over the edges and splashed into pools of deathness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem