There is no rock, I know that now, to hold
Fast against the wrath of passion, the deep
Sweep of pity, the ravages of bold
Remourseless Time, where humanity reaps
Unsaid thoughts, more, undone deeds, with those that
Swell the ocean of blind mortality.
So smooth the rock where we once thought we sat,
It runs with tears of our banality;
Our hopes that only had truth in spirits
World, in inflamed moralities sweet dirge
That sings with intellects passion; rivets
Of deceit against the world's deathly urge.
Trust not canopies, rings or amulets
They will break or crack without your abet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem