The frequent continent is continual,
With a halo and mast, a thirst for thoughts,
And a ship for restraint.
The frequency of the thoughts is strange,
One has a light as guide,
The ship buries its dead.
May the sea depart from lost companionship
Issuing orders for the destruction
Of the soul and its remains.
I understand this disastrous mayhem
Taken by the supreme warlord
And his motley crew discerning
From other members of the legion.
I frequent the continent, and then delve
Deeply into the confines of the cave,
Watching our beauty in the senses,
Deceiving nobody with haste.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem