A fire runs deep,
In a stone keep.
Beat in my blood,
A pounding of mud.
Piercing of my eye,
Pulsing warning cry.

Now the sword in my hand,
Drawn a line in the sand.
It's the way that I dress,
That forces you to confess.
My smile travels a mile,
But my frown awards a crown.

Transparent your convolution,
Amongst my steely retribution.
A solitude of feiry grace,
The stone stare my face.
Your words breathed to warm,
They stand against a storm.

05/09/2016