Walk unrest.
At night they wander.
A crimson feast.
They kill. They slaughter.
Movements that can't be matched.
The note of death they sang,
as these predators find its catch,
Let its fangs bare you,
and find eternal ecstasy.
The victim is the clue.
A mark imprinted to the bite, hazy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem