When witches hiss and sit to knit,
Webs to stick those picked with intricate needles...
While directing their falsities with venomed lips,
A commanding to demand of disciples...
To perform assorted misdeeds and wickedness,
All now eventually burn to feel the heat...
Returned by a yearning felt,
By the ones believed easy to defeat.
But have survived to breathe with an ease and freely.
To see as witnessed those who deceive bleed,
There...
In a glass enclosed mausoleum exposed,
To show...
A pretense of innocence at one time convincing,
On exhibit without exits to end what had been permitted.
'And to the left OR from the right,
Depending upon from where you enter...
Is observed what had been,
Performers of the most decadent of deeds.
To have many believe they provided a benefit.'
~How? ~
'This is an exhibit.
We are not here to insist kept delusions exist.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem