One word to search if only to define.
One thought to hold on to if only to compile.
This wasteland we trek through to find our worth.
Crazed and maddened with life's everlasting thirst.
Yet, born in this lightless void, we return to the dark.
Running the giloteen believing we'll finish devoid of scars.
Only to find thinking in this manner will leave us viewing life from afar.
Through turmoil and strife we stubbornly progress forward.
To find withing ourselves the true multitude for horror.
So find challenge in your weakness.
Look for hope in your soundness.
Walk the daily mine-field with your head held high.
Never forget either alone or in a crowd it's ok to cry.
And remember, when your spirits are in jeopardy, merely look to the sky.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great read Brad...thank you