Despite the hatred of the world, 
That we yet seem to find: 
Everywhere, with pain manifold, 
And tears that render selves blind.
Despite contempt and despising: 
Those who their promises broke, 
And lingered long but mesmerizing: 
Whom have tried them to provoke.
Despite the anger and the fear: 
That always assemble in one nightmare; 
Hence we end up fighting what isn't here, 
But hidden within our shunned despair.
Despite the loneliness and too the dark, 
Despite the parting eyes: 
That hearts do melt then make them stark; 
As miracles rise from mere demise! 
Despite the memories, despite the grief: 
That fills voids with hollows bittersweet, 
And makes life but a candle brief: 
Lit not to solace yet a single defeat.
Despite the rather ruptured ruth, 
Despite the soothing songs: 
That bring but obscure words of truth, 
Thus make souls not belong.
Despite the lost battles and the various scars, 
And all unhealing wounds alongside agony; 
Despite the lying lull at but the distant stars, 
And the slowly fading dreams in which everyone's free.
Despite such dark and monstrous things: 
That forge one but forlorn; 
There shines scant hope that rapture brings, 
Alway in every morn!                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    