Red Snow

Question

Cold war, red snow. 
Wielding swords of a fellows fate. 
Death comes a dozen, life has a chosen. 
Where the legends die but live forevermore.

Bloody stains lie on the snow. 
Frozen pain tempered in the frozen rain.
Momentum of liquid love of a shonan falls to his knees.

Theres a tale of a mighty samurai. 
Cold wars of a summit, blood rain to spill. 
He devours his hunger with his silence, as the saying goes those who devour the words, you will weap you'll weap spiritless to a dying breed.

Morning skills turn to needs as needs beg for different deeds. 
The man heart pleads to be free of death so the iron sword set him free.

The ariose tone of the northern winds sent waves of beautiful strings to the listeners ear. 
letting nature's songlike appeal be the listeners guilt. 
Melodic peaceful, but speaks humbled debts of forgotten truths. 
Truths of a past that'll never break free of a forbidden chapter of past lives of echoed screams.

Cold war, burning childs. 
Mark the tears of death be by near. 
Thunderous vibrations, chaotic sorrows meets no ends.

Cold wars, red snow. 
Wielding swords of a fellows fate. 
Death comes to a horizon, as the heart beats. 
An ambivalent soul cant catch his body, as it falls six feet. 
Grody demeanor, a unheavenly dispute. 
Red snow falls like sakura oh so heavenly meets.

His blood spilled his past, 
His past tells his truths. 
Thicker than water but not as pure of a reflection, lifeless by nature, but rage he knew.

Death honored, death conquered, like a sympathy of unbelievable noble echoes haunting grounds of unspoken history gone for years.

Red snow falls a forgiveness to a broken past.

DARKCLOUD · Accepted Answer

Cold war, red snow.
Swords borne of fate’s cruel design,
Each clash a testament to the endless cycle of life and death.
Death descends in countless forms,
Yet life remains a rare, chosen flame
In a realm where legends fall but never truly fade.

The snow, once pure, now stained with crimson,
Carries the weight of ancient sorrows,
Frozen pain mingled with icy rain,
A relentless testament to battles fought and lost.
The momentum of love, a liquid bond,
Falls away as the warrior sinks to his knees.

In the annals of history, a tale is etched:
Of a formidable samurai,
Bound by cold wars and blood-soaked summits.
He devours his hunger in silence,
For those who consume their own words are condemned to weep,
Spiritless and fading into the shadows of a dying breed.

Morning’s skills transform into urgent needs,
As the heart’s pleas rise against the looming specter of death.
The iron sword, a harsh liberator,
Promised freedom from the chains that bind the soul to its mortal coil.

The northern winds, with their mournful tones,
Send waves of haunting melodies to the listener’s ear.
Nature’s song becomes a cloak of guilt,
Melodic yet burdened, whispering humble debts of forgotten truths.
Echoes of a past, shrouded in forbidden chapters,
Resonate with screams that refuse to escape their prison.

Cold wars, burning souls—
Marked by the tears of death drawing ever closer.
Thunderous vibrations and chaotic sorrows
Meet in an unending symphony of despair.

Cold wars, red snow.
Swords wielded by destiny’s decree,
Death advancing on the horizon as the heart’s rhythm falters.
An ambivalent soul, unable to reconcile its fate,
Falls into the embrace of the earth, six feet deep.
A grim demeanor in an unholy dispute,
Red snow falling like sakura, a bitterly beautiful mockery.

His blood tells the story of his past,
A narrative of truths revealed through crimson.
Thicker than water, less pure in reflection,
Lifeless by nature, yet aflame with unyielding rage.

Death honored and subdued,
As a solemn symphony of noble echoes
Haunts the forgotten grounds of history,
Offering forgiveness cloaked in the chill of red snow.

Red Snow

Poetry සමූහය

අදාළ පෝස්ටු

My Father Loves Me More

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