Her arrows of light,
pierce your heart,
you, weakened, begin to fade,
to concede defeat.
All around you begins to change,
a bloody smear appears,
and you, begin to fall.
It's turning black now,
and you can barely see,
this must be the end.
She stands over you, victorious,
her silver armour glistening bright,
her followers round her,
and the arrows piercing the ground.
You slip away, your memory lives on,
but you will return to fight another day,
with the sky as your battlefield,
and the clouds as your shield,
you will fight the moon and the stars.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem