In the blood is a secret
a silent stranger in shadow.
Sometimes the ring master
sometimes the beast tamed.
Always there, always watching,
It hurts, it twists with wretched anger
an over entitled baby born from a sweet mistake
Clawing at, slashing at: future.
A compass steeped in faith confronted,
soiled blood the river running through
sordid in its dazed mania
until there is no more sense of its style,
the shine of false prophets greatly loved,
crafted through hope and heart.
Taken from Journey.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem