Not free, not wise, not kind, not loved,
and tethered to the past
Unwilling to admit the truth,
he met his match at last
His Muse had warned time and again,
a reckoning was near
His eyes to close, his voice to mute,
beyond his greatest fear
Unsung, unwanted, lost, alone,
his nights became his days
His abrogation to regret,
the price all sinners pay
If just one chance to then go back,
and take that other road
The dark would pass, the light return
—and end his life below
(Villanova Pennsylvania: March,2017)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem