His freedom was stolen from him
Now under lock and key he cries in the memory of the sun
Now laying in the cold darkness he screams
The cure for his sorrow lies in the fire of the morning sun
A raging passion so pure in form nothing dark can touch it
The ancient warrior inside of him awakens, fighting back the pain that eats at him
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem