Breathing in the fresh air near the trees of serpentine purple,
To inhume the dolour of my dejected loneliness..
In the distressing ire I am that lacustrine,,
Listening the soft lay in the beautiful lea..
People know, my wounds are plumbless,,
No tears in my orbs , seems I am mage....
People here are serpents who don't slay,,
But are giving the bad sempiternal gashes...
Now look at my stygian tenebrous visage,,
From which poesy is flowing with a plashing sound...
You,, know their life was in pitch_dark,,,
Now is lucent and niveous, orgulous!! what I did,,
Those toys of clay rend me savagely,,,
Now my vermilion ichor exhibits the beautiful limn.
People of this era are pitiless,, my dear!!!
Are deceiving ere and after, not caring for eld..
The poem is about the present world, where only selfish people live. They can harm anyone for their own purposes. They are the Snakes who don't care for the old age... They will always give you everlasting wounds