The rain,
Falling slowly, like the shadows
Of a thousand moments past,
A glimpse into the future,
Or the memory of yesterday
That never lasts.
Why is it us who are left
To shoulder the burden?
Waiting for a colder winter
To start the fires burning
In their young heart.
Young hearts-
Their souls and minds aflame,
They rise up through the pain,
Alive with duty,
A sense of unfulfilled beauty,
And a promise to
Honour the dead.
The flames burn stronger,
But the shadows last longer
In young hearts.
When bleeding stops and healing starts,
We tear the world to shreds
And fall apart.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem