11.13.2011

Poetry & Prose

He will not surrender to any force. Whether it be the strike of a lightning bolt or the jab of a switch blade, nothing will tear down his frame. He doesn't bend and he will not break. No one will ever be able to know the mistakes that he makes; he isn't aware of them either. His intentions are carved in stone - to him, every action has a blame. Before he leaves Earth, humanity will have all once pronounced his name. He is poetry, unlike prose. No pause, or breaks, or hesitates; he moves in the momentum of the bold. When one shrub is passed it's pushed, flattened and slashed. There is no returning, and absolutely no mourning. He can feel for what has been shoved, but he walks along remembering where he belongs. Because even if he cares, he could not dare to drop his legend, to live complacent in love.

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