Blood to the boil, my veins coils with the venom.
Cracks are formed by the heat within the bleeding ice of hate.
Dark is the cloud which breaks the thunder in my mind.
The blade to my throat cuts the flesh.
The knife is held by my hand.
Harm not to harm others not to harm you.
I am alarmed by what was cast, onto myself.
The tornado formed by the light contains the sorry sorrows.
Violence erupts into the ten of again.
Will my soul survive the constant attack by vengeance.
Will my spirit be demon downed and deceitfuly seized.
Holy can only be true by the living of the unholy.
In between is the phase of the living.
The place where death walks freely.
Shared by my race of breeders.
The human unkind.
The ones loosing to the once lost.
What will be the price to pay.
What will be the cost.
Prepared not to be shared.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem