Memories can be double edged swords
slicing through the tangles of the past
clearing a way for the future
whichever path you wish to choose
Mine are like claymores within their sheaves
dangling from racks along the walls
each one can be used in different situations
whenever the need arises
They can unfortunately cut both ways
leaving their marks on both body and mind
tears can pour as well as blood
the scars can be slow to heal and fade
Sadly age can dull the blades
and make them less effective with time
memories can be double edged swords
and mine are crying out for a grindstone
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem