Power cajole.
Swift are the stage of
ambition,
lofty deceit are the
slippery moist of the
lips.
Minds in the captured
nest of their fortune,
the brutal swing of
comfort for the bin
of terror and misfit.
Stony cave of treasure
captivated for the heart
of mashed pieces,
the desire to fulfill fate
by crumbling and fall
of souls.
To tell the moment of
unknown,
to withhold the cast to
foil in the saw for their
desire.
Immunity in raging
faces,
building broken walls
with the finger and
feet of decisions.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem