rolling
down the mountain
glowing
like a torch
burning
like a sun
everything around it
leaving
wounds
blue fire
turning stone to glass
rolling
death
This is it.
running
down the mountain
panting
branches tearing
flesh
feet bleeding
eyes bleeding
hair falling
feathers falling
age changing
He's running
towards it
away from my death
This is him.
No, this is all me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem