The perfect of nature distilled by mans whim,
going against the current when the tide be seat him.
To get to a place desired by hearts,
where men become kings in bread from start.
Pressing up to divinty manifesting dreams.
Yet eyed by fate, not knowing the things,
What creates? What gives being?
Still breachin the worlds gravity elevating mind to get to a place.
Pressing up to divinity manifesting dreams,
moving threw waters running up stream.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem