Two battles lost since one joined all.
The transformation that took place
arose around a pre-emptive call.
"Type in your battle-codes, "
the first step in the new Frontier.
Our battle cry - Our ode.
The Frontier is mistaken,
but forsake is for none
except death - forsaken.
"Gentlemen, turn your keys."
He knew not the consequence
as he unleashed the beast.
And on his command the white
knights of terror unleashed.
The victim: countless; horror in flight.
People water flower beds,
un-knowing the bliss that is
soon to be enjoyed: slept
The knights fight through the skies
the onslaught is returned: retaliation.
Assured of a new generation, we die.
Laughter is long gone
and peace is a given. Memories
lost and forgotten.
Rueful, aroused upon dawn...
A mistful dawn encloses red.
The woeful rose respawns.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It's a pretty good poem, I guess. It describes war pretty well, I must say, and it is easily understandable. The rhythm is clear, so you did a good job. Good job, my friend. You did well. Keep on writing.