I'm a warrior forcefully taking back,
a victory rightfully mine.
I'm a fighting,
calmly raging polite wild man,
struggling to gain an inch in an inch-less box,
but perhaps,
boxes have deteriorating simple walls,
and walls are falling, falling, falling - falling down.
And if they don't, I have a big, sharp ax!
I'm happy and unhappy,
noticing the unnoticed,
a confident, fine and splendid Black bard,
sensitized by pain and time,
I've been repeatedly ripped by life,
adrift in a waterless, unending sea,
and drifting there and everywhere,
I admit to myself consciously,
my path is invisible and thirsty,
fleeting and unknown,
but what's life, without a challenge?
I'm damaged and unhealed inside,
from sitting at short tables with grasping men.
I'm feeling piercing and disruptive stings
from lying down in beds,
seeded with many mean scorpions ...
But, I'm an exceedingly generous,
tough, determined, patient soul ...
still unchanged inside,
still liberated,
still Godly-inspired ...
despite men with harmful words
and even deeper stingers.
And although my God-sent trust,
has been invaded and drained dry,
to a disillusioned and lavish shade of black,
I keep bouncing back to a familiar place,
where discreet black is a beautiful design,
a design full of emerging and soft bliss,
for fragile bliss,
is definitely my ultimate goal!
With no slick agenda,
to slow me down ...
no purpose,
no certainty,
no boundaries,
to chain me like most men ...
no direction other than God's will,
and with no one, here to hold me back ...
I'm curiously apathetic and reasonably unhindered.
Although my path bends, folds, and zigzags
in a forest with monsters and untamed trails,
I'm a determined wilderness soldier,
who enjoys challenging, new views
and who always continues, marching on ....
Yet, perhaps and maybe too,
love's all I'm searching for ...
(and all I or anyone needs)
I'm sprinkling love on rigid wits
with a fragrance sweet and undeniable ...
It's a decision I may live to regret ...
but, what's regret, - but never tried ...
Exhausted by indifference,
yet, unafraid ...
of the chore of loving everyone,
I'm beset by prize-filled days,
everywhere I wept,
Yet, weeping is for those who, dare to dream!