Some find peace in their seclusion.
Most must accompany others.
Peace they find is merely an illusion.
Yet, groups tend to smother.
We've yet to know what is need of us.
What our destiny may hold.
This destiny shows to be shrouded in dust.
Contrary to what we've been told.
This dust is thicker than first expected
And searching is no easy task.
The will of most is quickly tested
And most fail to last.
Not many know the contents of the dust,
Yet, most of it is those we trust...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem