Pretense of all endearments,
in an invented sort of ploy
With fitting use of other
as slanderous game’s decoy
None did try and reach out
in attempt to find or seek
All my emotional upheavals,
when feeling forlornly weak
Aided and abetted building
domains most others aspired
Couldn’t save own foundations
which providence had mired
Tried being a guiding beacon
showing verve shining bright
But kept groping in darkness
sans flicker of slightest light
Each hurt that I tried tending
returned with a stabbing gash
Pain could though be endured
but nasty & sardonic whiplash
Far too long has a wait been
for winds to favorably align
I’ll ride the next passing gust
and to fate’s final intent resign
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem