Beneath thick trees, where shadows sprawl,
The air grows heavy, the night does call.
A flask uncorked, a hand pulls tight,
The amber liquid steals the light.
Guns rest cold on wooden shelves,
Silent partners to men themselves.
In taverns dark and hearts undone,
The soul's last war has just begun.
Through leafy bushes thick as sin,
Where secrets start and lives begin,
The scent of earth and moss entwined,
With smoke and sweat, the senses blind.
A touch, a gasp, a sigh, a moan,
Lust takes root where seeds are sown.
The woods grow deep, desire grows wild,
Like hunting men, both fierce and riled.
The pull of whiskey, sharp and pure,
The shot that breaks the night's allure,
The bullet's path, a trail of fireβ
In gunpowder and need, they conspire.
Green leaves shudder, the night winds rise,
Silent watchers, old and wise.
The breath of danger, lust, and booze,
In sin's pursuit, there's much to lose.
The flash of teeth, the gleam of steel,
All things too dark, too sharp to feel.
The trees are thick with whispered sins,
Where battles lost and love begins.
Beneath the branches, hearts beat fast,
Each moment stolen, meant to last.
A shot, a kiss, a night of lustβ
All things of earth will turn to dust.
But here and now, the woods ignite,
With guns and drink and skin so tight.
The forest knows, the stars concealβ
In sex and sin, life's raw appeal.
Here guns are gods, and whiskey's king,
And lust, the secret that they sing.
In tangled woods, where shadows thrive,
It's sin alone that keeps men alive.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem