Wretch Poem by Mason Maestro
Wretch
Hell, I might as well be dead
If I can't see how good it must feel to be
Greasing human cogs for the machine
Without some ailing wretch like me
Bombarding the still soft tissue
With sticks and stones that irradiate around
In the heap of unspeakable feelings I'd found
Faced forward I stand slouched alone
Turned over the stone of my bone
Of my own disappointment
Succumb to the sum to ascend back home
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 3:10:52 AM # 1.0.0.1119
