Muscle and bone.
Hiding a heart unknown.
Flesh and blood.
And raging floods.
Drowning this creature.
Cruel are his features.
Purple blood pouring blind.
In the medulla of the mind.
Scornful face; without a tear.
Hoping to conceal his fear.
Miserable drawings on his face.
Nothing for him in this place.
All he knew; he left behind.
Now he wonders scared and blind.
Cruel facts.
Keep life in tact.
Cruel people.
Red blood turned purple.
Upon a dying mind.
Never was its mother kind.
This is the final stop.
He reaches the end then drops.
Down deep inside his soul.
where can reach no digging moles.
Where no light can penetrate.
Where old sounds reiterate:
Men don't cry, men don't fly.
Unlike spirits, Men must reason why.
Men are just, men are strong.
Men work hard and women live long.
True to his limits he remains.
And some tail of truth he must regain;
Bold bulging muscles.
Fed by weakened vein.
He stands around then goes to hustle.
For an ancestral maid to retain.
That which he held so dear.
And held so close.
Strangled by malicious fear.
The devil's work I suppose.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The poem is really nice. The fact that it describes the whole body and how it reacts when it faces fear is MARVELOUS! ! ! !