Born from fire and steel
you were intended to be the Archangel,
fierce and feared by all.
The gleaming of your sword
was the last light seen by your enemies
as they pleaded for their life.
Your spine is not weak,
it is your strength.
The roaring sound of your heart
beating under the sheets of
armor, metal and steel
The Gods have forgotten,
this is your freewill
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'tis an elegant poem! ! ! Well-penning! ! Plz read my poem) death