Little and yet all I know of war
amounts to casualties
littering my chest
desire and piety
raging.
in my veins
coursing.
sword drawn supremacy
for head and heart
Light and darkness
clashing.
Victory is a moving mistress
Favor is a fickle friend
but there is an end
an end to glory or to shame
I am a battlefield
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem