It ain’t about what you see,
or perceive.
The dark damp of the night,
or the harsh uncaring rot of sun,
both are hare bringers of what all is feared.
Fire igniting within the realms of the hopeless,
the rush of anger,
the need for release.
Heart pounding with fear,
lust,
wanting.
Running…running,
with arms held high!
Needing to find what hides.
A core of heat burns inside,
compelling,
enticing,
an elixir for never forgotten rage.
Racing to the unknown,
hiding in evanescent terror,
yet,
when what you fear approaches,
strong arms loosen,
and
embrace the darkness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem