Why must the angel's eyes
Be tempered by a demon's despise.
Without knowledge I did approach,
And was stomped on as a roach,
And though physically I'm fine,
My heart is divided by that crooked line.
With no way to take words back,
And now without the will I lack,
How can I pick myself off the floor,
How can I love anymore...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem