Shifting with the winds,
Of these times ever changing.
And not against them blindly.
Is a difficult decision,
To make...
When one's comfort seems,
A permanent condition.
And then the winds begin,
Swiftly shifting.
Finding many looking done.
With eyes fixed,
Upon the ground.
Ignoring the warning of signs,
Everywhere to be found.
But 'priorities' keep them,
Conveniently dismissed.
As with a doing not to listen,
To others who comprehend...
These times to pay attention.
The meaning of the winds.
And why they have begun,
Shifting swiftly...
Has disbelievers demanding,
A quick return...
Of their addicting and steady,
Habits.
With a rapid response expected
Yet...
Gone from their repeated,
Cycles...
Is the disconnection,
Of delusions kept.
That will take many years,
To become effective.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem