Dearest
I have nothing above you.
Its obvious I'm floundering.
Sad, Indecent, Shameful.
But
I am the root of your miasma.
You should never kill a supplicant.
And yes, I may have knelt
But my bones will rest in peace
your cruelty would have you wander
with no chance of home.
Your hubris would have you fearing
Would mark your out for nemesis.
Will mark you hollow, poisonous, doomed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem