My thoughts are always roaming around, in an unknown but accessible fashion
And when they look down upon the stage of life they seem to shake and scream,
With rigor-mortis setting in killing me, the poet and a thief, life, temporarily seems to be imprisoning me,
But with my mind I can escape, I can fly and without effort I find I am free, but the
Roaming thoughts pull me, in and out from what I see, clouding everything and all which is profoundly we, no matter who you are we can love all night and dance all day but what I see is simply delay
Everyone can use somebody, to hold, to love to be in a moment of peace
Instead we perturb natural love, and we all use somebody diligently selfishly uniquely for our needs, but never give thought for those abused and with a clear conscience our need of greed breeds
We set the stage afire and life is pushed to harder corners, on a hunt to fill a hole we hide from the others we stand beside live beside, then we become too much for those we touch and negativity grows, stoking the fire as we wonder why our hearts are cold
Running from the corners of our burning stage
Brings in the coming of the closing of our age
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem