Life questioned as value.
For the pound of flesh given.
Shown only to you,
To a master dealing in pain.
Crying is not to share.
It is a lone burden to bring to deaths door.
Quarters for the ferryman and the reapers delight.
Payment not in full but in tiny segments.
Paid in long dark days, and blackest night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem