“Just let go,”
I heard the dead man say–
all fire and steel,
this medieval madness in my veins.
Touch the Fire,
watch it burn–
my flourish of steel
can ward the Dragons,
but this feathered sword is nothing to the light.
I could write you off,
but never Time–
ensconced in the moment
I wear it like a shield
to burn the fires out around me.
Still through the swirling smoke–
the fires die,
but the scorches linger.
The black marks on my skin
refuse to go–
I Breathe but I cannot Release
and I am Bound
Forever by the Deed.
Love the world where the writer somehow blurs into the world he is writing about