Life injects minds with haste too quick,
The feeling subsides to choose,
What the creative sponge will suck up today,
Like a vulture in the burning winds.
The deserts of my mind,
Prickled by the distaste for human integrity.
I'm arming my guilt with a smoke grenade,
Short fuse.
Pin released.
I hope that the echo beholds a rapture,
We all sought before the aftermath.
The endless conundrum of a sharp complexity,
And a beveled personality.
I'll gallop away on my horse,
To the mountains of beyond,
To the valleys yonder,
And envelop myself in elation.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem