The clown fish is my father, the orange and white,
somewhere he swims in eternity, his eyes wide with wonder
as he answers questions for god.
Athena is my heart, her wisdom guides me
her delicate hands, and crafty smile,
her playful laugh, her light so bright to bring worlds afire.
Irish martyr wood guards my honor, stands in the face
of the serpant and his coils
it is not perfect as perfection is best worked over the nails of trial.
Three curves, each turning outward showing me the way
family, friends, self, each a piece of the same work
each a part of the same solution.
The Dragon guards my blindness and pushs me to work
for great things and accolades and praise
dragons are not humble and this one had razors.
The standard of the legion is my code, my writ
it reminds me of sacrifices of men of the past
and guides me to glory in my future.
The sword takes flight, and walks in the valley of death
and tells me daily that men of principal, of ethics
bend knee to no one.
this is my patchwork, piece of my soul
the interweaving of my flesh with my past, present, and future.
like it's owner it grows, it stretches, it fades
and like it's owner
it is renewed once again.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment