Demise? But these are only wounds
Etched far deep and gnawing inside.
Yet You find me standing here sober and tall
Whilst meandering fuchsia down every pore..
Treading soft upon brambles you buried me in
Trundling ,weary ,clad in rags and a stoic faith
Bear me thorns , and the roses I'll bloom for you.
Bear me vice and I'll adorn you, a wreath of heavenly peace...
Broken ? I am but a patchwork of gallantry
Duress wilts not the red embers of the glowing hearth
A gash ,a wound, for the greater piety
Clamber on I shall ,naked, along the shingled paths
Falling ,yet I stand here sober and tall...