The weight of my wind

There I stood;

Face to face;

Tooth and nails;

to see the incoming slaughter and kept on raging my own warmth.

. . to know I can.

. . . to know I must.

. . . and to be in the verge of my own self-pity.

As my own seriousness becomes the laughter of years,

dare I to be my own comical villain of the sentiment of every tears;

I do shed.

. I do made that bed.

. . . I do give in the brain of my own mind.

Just cause has no bruise on me,

only the chime ryhmes all the time;

whence the breeze comes by and I can be still in the chaos of its passing.