The day is dark today.
The sun doesn't shine,
and the moon doesn't glow.
Winds whip at me,
trying to pry me away from the ground.
If it were any day before,
I would fight it,
but not after what happened last night.
Rage had filled me up,
and now I am empty.
If they are really gone,
then so am I.
To my dismay,
all the wind can do is make my trip harder,
not sweep me away as I so desire.
So I dig my feet in the ground,
and push forward.
When finally the place appears,
I am still alone.
As I walk in a smile masks me,
and laughter hides me away.
What else am I to do but act?
They wouldn't understand my emptiness.
They are gone.
I am gone.
My wish is now a horrendous one,
but it is what I desire.
I wish the next battle I fight in,
the enemy's sword would slip,
and knock me down.
Useless;
I am empty,
and useless.
These hands were not made for destruction.
Yet everything I create ends up miserable and weak.
'Put me out of my misery.'
I whisper as I fall asleep.
'No longer do I wish my soul to keep.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem