sexta-feira, 30 de outubro de 2009

You win

Fight me for a word,
and lose me completely.
Throw your darts at the
Bull's eye of your argument
To miss me fully.

Incensed I feel, vapoured
and steamed, finite,
and still bound, still captive
in my room,
not willing to step out, yet

Again, cold winds for a hand;
Clouds and myst for a kiss;
The hand offered a hissing fist,
Ready for a finishing rant.

Thus I retreat and fall back
To a silent corner where
I might harden myself
And brandish my armour
and Coat of Arms
Clad in the purest Ice.

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