Poems by Inori
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By: Inori


Why must I live with this torment?

My innocence?


My life?


My heart?

My heart which

Loves life?

Torn to shreads.

And what of my soul?

What has become of that?

It is stained

In a crimson hue,

The color of blood,

The color of death.

I look at my hands,

I see small streams

Running down them.

Of what, you ask?

Is it not obvious?

Can you not tell?


My small hands are

Stained with blood.

And what of my sword?

What of my Shield?

They are mearly tools

For bringing death

And splattering more blood

My clothes are also stained.

But not with blood.

Not with death.

But with tears.

Tears of sadness,



And tears of hope.

And I realize

That for those tears

Of hope and longing,

I must fight the evil

that has stained my soul.

For revenge?


For peace and freedom.

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