Questionable they say?
they question right...
for crimson is out of not just mind, but body aswell,
my soul soars among the clouds,
but sadly these clouds only fill with deceitful blood,
Gloom and Shadow carress me,
pretending to mother such a sickly Crimson Child
Making me who I was...or perhaps who I still am
Dark and disfiguring words,
hold on to my mind,
with vise like grip,
let my soul ever so gently come back in contact with my body,
for one joyous reunion of blood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow. This describes how everyone feels quite often (even if they don't admit it) . Perfect poem =)