Memories of true freedom plague my malevolent mind making for a malignant moment of maddening remembrance.
Might I find a more mirthful existence?
Or may I die a martyr of a miserable madness?
Maybe a life of mediocre mediation free of merry and misery?
So many mistakes made me miss the music of the majority,
Manipulative motions against the magnanimous morons,
Methodical melancholy to fuel my materialism.
Just a lone Maverick.
Moving through the motions...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem