That which isn't.
Yet debated what could have been.
Has locked many minds within,
A prison of routine repetition.
With wishes to dream for a past missed.
Gone.
To no longer,
Fantasize lives lived.
Even then did not exist.
As most sat to sit,
Wanting with their wishes.
Without efforts made taking steps.
To eliminate feelings of regrets.
In a revolving cycle,
That leaves them expressing...
Being upset over the absence of progress.
Yet,
Wait for wishes dreamed to be delivered.
Of a what could have been that isn't.
Nor appears anywhere near the horizon.
But,
Sit making claims.
In a familiar aging and outdated,
Blame game comfortably played.
As others choose to endeavor their efforts.
While being accused,
Of doing their best to better themselves.
Without excuses made,
Just to produce accusations.
And for them,
What could have been...
Is with effort attempted.
Done to do.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem