Merge
Let the constant of choicebe the skin,
to fit the intellect
of him.
Let the bind of self
be the bone,
to frame the character
of him.
Let the sense of logic
be the nerve,
to weave the wit
of him...
Child,my redemption
crack my skin, bone
and nerve...
Let my will and worth,
be the process
to merge the purpose
of our birth.
Poetry by Mathieu
Read 577 times
Written on 2006-10-16 at 16:42
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Amanda K |
