Of profound resentment
The stigmatic gradient of the evening sky,
so cynical compared to the glorious day,
why does time flutter swiftly without cry,
leaving the despair lurking in dismay.
Agony and defeat emits in the horizon,
Yet, their fiery multitude strikes no chord
Have success become but a mocking motion?
and hope and dreams a sickening vogue?
Alas, cries shall go unheard and regrets will loom,
but the tides of fortune has never been frail,
be it i subdue that within which brings doom,
then, the last strand of spirit will prevail
