The Chosen

He cries, like angel cries at night
For souls of sinful people
Crawling away from painful light,
With two sharp sables held so tight,
He creeps like damned cripple.
This sun has burnt away his skin,
Has turned it black as darkness
His eyes, where soul cannot be seen,
Are holding starry night within,
Like two lavender sparkles.
He cries: wherever he can be,
They raise their bows and arrows,
They sharpen restless swords and spears.
How can he stop this groundless fear
If their minds are narrow.
He cries for friends lost in his way,
For those, who won’t see morning.
But he believes for sure, one day
This world will hear each tiny pray,
Each tear, and each fierce warning.
He gave too much of bleeding soul
To smash this hate in people.
And just some friends accept his whole,
Believe in his outstanding role,
Make human out of cripple.
His search for better land of dream,
For sky, where stars are clear
Is way of virtue slowly stream,
He’s chosen one, he will swim in
Defeating pain and fear.


P.S. Старое, отредактированное