chismalover13
Personal Message
Writing is not a passion
or an emotion
but the ocean is deceitful in commanding
as is the cow;
pieces of a heart
I know can not be mine,
and yet I still dream
of things unknown,
in heart and soul,
where there be dragons,
past an era of worry,
for I am you and you are me. . .
and dragons we be
About Me
Miles and miles of ice,
blanket my face,
and nothing can seem to melt
this lock,
until a soldier I be,
and in being become that which I fear
. . .
by the face of an enemy
I leave my prison upon,
to hopefully lead him
back the path,
upon which I lay
. . .
for he is mine and I am his
only in the fault of sin