Crimson Blooms Spread Across My Hometown

Will it be the end towards a spring garden bursting with flowers?

Will it be that passionate summer's symphony?

Will we see the substantive and close autumn, and the pouring of sweet blood?

Will there be the pure white expanse laid out by winter?

Or will there only be more falling and sacrifice, a desire for liberation and the death of the heart, fighting with backs against the current and facing contradictions.

But the scattered crimson that once existed in dreams, when it travels across mountains and rivers to reach a decadent human realm, will it bloom across the hills and shores of my hometown, or will it ultimately die in a foreign land?