Somnolent thoughts are hanging upside down like bats in a
darkened cave, waiting to be awakened and chased out into
the open.
Solidly knowing the practice of exercising futility and
it's promise of eternal assistance.
Following the purpose and every endeavor that enters this
mind, taking them all as a whole, not parting any of it -
just compiling everything in notes and measures of a
particular rhythm.
There is no other way as every idea is automatically coded
straight into the essence of my being with no exceptions
to it's purpose.
Realizing the surety of this statement as it is being
written down on a line of prosperity and taken over
tomorrow's horizon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem