Dulling are those thorns,
Once sharpened to prick.
Dulled are their effectiveness,
With a wounding done...
One has learned to heal from quick.
Scars once shown,
Have disappeared.
Without a trace of them at all.
And those victimized stand,
From a crawl to walk ever so tall.
Dulling are those thorns,
Once sharpened to prick.
As if deceivers have been revealed...
From the crevices of their wickedness.
And this exposure has left them sick.
When one chooses to ignore their critics,
A strength overshadows...
Those maneuvering in darkness,
To inflict their evilness.
Leaving them to surface with...
Useless intentions left upon tight and silent lips.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem