Wreckless blades breaking
useless in the fray
Where foes bleed forever
and laugh even as I strike
My arrows snap
and daggers dull
on the skin of my aggression
I fall limp
to see the damage done
upon this young man's rubble
by the onslaught of the pen
(to poets everywhere)
Send home the wolves, the basileks and ogres
Retreat behind your sinister curtains
and let me be
The night has passed and still I breathe
wounded and numb, but unbroken
For I see you as you are now
a one-sided fantasy fueled by fear
And I see myself too
as I turn my back to the mists
and hobble to the cottages of my kin
The comfort of my people yes
the settled hum of home
Faces all familiar yet
more intriguing every day
The shackle of tradition maybe
but peace in who you are
Hands that reach for only you
in a universe of souls
The comfort of my people yes
the settled hum of home.
