They sacrifice their blood for the reliability of a myth,
The crimson fluid of their childrens',
And it will suffice for the respective gift,
It's tradition propelled by the purpose.
A purpose worshipped by the believer,
A purpose without the fingerprint,
The faith alone will keep the candle burning,
Through the controversial stance, as the world keeps turning.
Explicit are the warped minds,
Indulging in their sadistic pool of obsession,
Without the ruler of guidance - wavy are the lines,
A towering tide is the tension.
One believer spawns the multiplication,
Leaves little to the knowledge of thousands,
The legion of followers who march along,
Tongue in cheek - empty faith on the outside kept defiant and strong.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Without the ruler of guidance - wavy are the lines hehe the truest line ever spoken about anyone who beleives something beyond truth and reason this is an amazing poem and definitely one i wont forget ^^