The gutters are filled with blood,
And the clouds lay naked in fear,
Darkness has stolen the streets,
And the few living reach for shield,
The roads are cursed,
With the end of the sword,
Playing shadows, I know not who is next.
Clashing swords and flying arrows,
What an acrimony history wouldn't forget,
The bitter music of broken emotions,
Joy was far beyond what anyone could get,
Angry winds carry the spirits of the dead,
Never again should this day be said,
If I could rid the world of this,
And bring the dead to live,
I would!
The roads are cursed,
Yet nothing can be done.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem