With the sleeping silence of moth
He walks, in this dead morning,
like a winner of the yesterday.
steps up from the sinking hills
drags his heavy shoulder,
carries the soul of today.
The gloomy sunlight of dawn,
shines for him. He witnessed a flood of
the last moon,
In dark night.
With the dogs' howl, face is staring to up.
He doesn't look back,
far back, the villages of ghosts,
He crossed.
The festival of blood ends.
with the red moon.
The flower of wind of east
bruises wounds of his now.
He, immersed from the sweats in many moons.
He sang the songs of tomorrow,
red and silky. He harvests the flower
of sand.
In his hand, kept a treasure,
the dust of last wood.
The cold face is rising now,
with the disappearance of the last firefly.
Like the winner of yesterday,
He swipes sweats, seeks for Eli.
The compassion and vengeance
holds in the grail.
In the dream, He kissed the illusion.
swam in the sea of Milkyway.
He solemnly pierced the flower of the hurricane,
in his blue heart.
And claimed the meaning of nothing.
In the foreign land, He emptied the bag
of the voyage.
The footstep in the snowy path, cracking
the silence of manhood.
Then, he loved the selfishness of
his lover,
He is brave to not to return.
