A Way To Poetry

In the line of darkness at night, A silent depth is going   after done the astonished work fully, after sucking the blood of the painful bloody tree, In the eye of the water dark dear nothing but the hell traveler. For the depth coming team of flowers in tear   Because of the snatching the cent of rose Patel; Because of the hellish hand touching the river water purity. By the extreme curse, the depth paints human root in blue. For the ungratefulness burning of the depth The birth of the ultimate becomes a failure. In the society of human being The depth is none other than the selfishness inside you.