One more day,
One more hour.
Another day,
Like a blooming flower.
The thoughts of a man,
Scattered through the land.
These thoughts of death,
Of taking breath.
One more day,
One more hour.
Another day,
Like a blooming flower.
The man a warrior,
A thoughtless destroyer.
A vastness of darkness,
The source is one heartless.
One more day,
One more hour.
Another day,
Like a blooming flower.
But the man doesn’t know,
For without thought,
Destruction is an obsession.
And from obsession,
Comes consumption.
One more day,
One more hour.
Another day,
Like a blooming flower.
The man a destroyer,
No longer a warrior.
For thoughtless death,
Consumed his last breath.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
ooohhh, that destroyer! ! ! *angry face* yet we all fell like that sometimes, all we ask for is a second chance.... Well done. I really like it.