Warmth of breeze in a shackled state
Could do no damage, nor deed.
‘Twas a song of smoke and fire
That traded the man’s creed.
Sound and just over the mantle of world,
He took his hand by instinct.
Knowing no salvation would be spared,
And ignored the possible conflict.
Hit the halt as huge as star,
With no possible reflex to follow;
‘Twas a train of lonely hours
That took him to forge him hollow.
When trying to seize the forthcoming,
Fate had it planned upto he was nothing.
#worst of all.