Smoke, Fire, Pain,
leads the way underground.
Crying, Screaming, Moans,
people falling a part from,
things long forgotten.
Lost souls guide the,
way to a place the,
Devil himself wouldn't go.
Land of Deathly sorrows,
Land of Lost Soul forgotten,
Land of Forbiden Desire.
A place of pain,
A place of peace,
A place of everywhere,
in between realms.
Tides heal all wounds,
no matter if they are,
internal or external.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Souls await rebirth to play once more in the forests of home Jerome Brooke