i gather not
those weapons of others
foreign they remain to my hands
only but that of my flesh
as naked as the skies
i strike
filtered not,
so but eyes can see beyond this skin deep
i defend
the freedom to soar
without notion of fall
skin deep
i gather not
those weapons of others
foreign they remain to my hands
only but that of my flesh
as naked as the skies
i strike
filtered not,
so but eyes can see beyond this skin deep
i defend
the freedom to soar
without notion of fall
i me must
allowed to enter
or bust
and blow
hot winds
so you know i was here
Striking opening image, similarly striking verse, and the perfect way to close. The epitome of mood piece.
Thank you, Richard for reading and finding it so.