winnowing, at the likes of ourselves,
minded like narrowed corridors;
we occularise antithesis, like charlatans,
in lieu of the antipathy, that of which-
we've all become willing perpetrators,
desecrators, profligating instigators of;
and shame on us all, though mortals we be
in betraying, bastardizing all that which-
we were taught in the innocence of the womb,
who knew such warmth could be born so cold
so what do we do now, what will we say
when time doth wash its hands of us all?
Frank J. Ryan, Jr.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem