Long ago I gave up the notion,
that I could fill with heartfelt emotion,
it mattered no way, more or less,
if I felt my worst, if I felt my best,
I only know a world of grave ill,
sadness and madness that conjure a thrill,
lies and misdeeds that fuel the insane,
and suffer the soul of finest grain,
I plead, I pray, shake a fist to the sky,
how many more are frozen and die,
such horror that live and utter dismay,
are we not more than hardened clay,
Yet, do we plod and wander on,
all of our heroes are gone,
have we failed a universal mission,
living by and for the fruits of commission,
have we grown so needy, we cannot heed,
a world so tortured, writhing with need,
we fill the airwaves with utmost fantasy,
The Symphony of Our Reality...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem