it is hard to be a voice
within which is not heard
or heeded
one feels the straining of
the flesh
how the bones tremble over
unrequited love
over feelings unattended
for the simple reason that
one must have strength over desires
that power to control
and do what ought to be done
the voice within struggles to be
heard and followed
it echoes in every corner of the
nerve of your humanity
the years are rough and muddled
over a voice which keeps on
murmuring
praying that it should be heard
and loved
somehow when death comes and the
voice dies with it
one from beyond all these
sees the true reason of restraint
the man dies dignified with all
praise
for he had been strong and not
swayed by the voice of the flesh
as flowers are offered
over his pure name
his reputation untarnished
living the life of a dignified
stature
carved upon stone and was never
stained by the acidity of
the rain
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Rough and muddled over the years with the muse of life. Nice work.