I weep and reap a heap of hope
For us to figure wise
We use, abuse, and muse to make
The truths of mental highs
Dismay of day to lay for lack
Of easing into eyes
That care and stare the dare of death
By fabricating lies
I'm left in cleft with theft in thought
To leave and never try
Distort of sort contort control
That nothing passes by
Passing by, pointless cries
Fabricate, pointless lies
Staying by, blinding highs
Activate, blinding eyes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
i like how it flows....im tryin to develop my skill to where i can change the pattern.....good one