Nobel grace I have not as I enter in the room.
Quiet pain is harnessed by the weavers of the twisted loom.
A sunset I may not folly as I reach to take a stand.
Amid the timid laughter my time will arrive as I hold vigilance on dry land.
When love will exhaust me, my presence will known, as a vestige of nerviness and pride in my physical state.
Where did you capture such thunder in a womb of bitter hate.
There resides a meager relic of a sweeter human race.
So forgo the carnal escapade we dissimulate with words shared a like threads of the seamstresses lace.
To craft a vessel unto my pride.
I shall sale be throttled away from glares of those who lied.
I walk in footprints reversed by grace.
No more embittered relics of a time already erased.