Like the Moon

I run through a storm,
Stepping meekly,
On the wet grass,
On the earth deep,
In the mountains,
I look at myself,
I take in all my body,
And my heart,
Want,
I take in the despair,
To the world of nothingness.

Always living this way,
Crimson blood flows,
To become a stronger person,
Is the cry of my heart and soul.

My soul that lives in winter,
Fails to understand the spring,
Into a mad red flower,
That has bud,
But not yet bloomed.

Always like the moon,
Shining faintly,
Softly guiding others,
Whose tender mysteries,
Are also their strengths.

My heart sometimes feels,
Almost, distant?
As if to deny my soul,
That is calling it over.

I wish I could be like the moon...