Sonnet 4 (200 Sonnet's Of The Soldier) Poem by Leom Kolmnela

4.

Every emotion facing the Tempest with conscience,
succeeds in thoroughly understanding ignorance.

Disappearing within storms you feel
abandoned like a brittle bud in May,
in a strange land where nothing seems real,
with all other flowers gone astray.

After a while, here will live through
another new soul from her misfortune.
Two hands burning tightly with pain anew;
two shoulders by night on midday beaten.

Do not cry my sweet, noble mother!
I will not be the only son on earth!
I raised you not to become world's martyr,
with my sweat and blood from birth.

Apart, the mouth stammers and speak the eyes,
as there are born and there will die two lives.