The man who tries to prove a point is unsure of how sharp it is.
The man who comes to war with blunt weapons is confident in his own strength.

The man who comes with armor falls heavy into his own grave.
The man who comes naked is sure he will return unscathed.

But, not every warrior is the same;
And, no war can be fought in the shadow of divine aim.

Chain me down if you will,
Bind me with false freedom.
Go ahead, cheat and call it skill.
Drive me out from my own inner kingdom;
But, you will never drive out my will.

Muscular strain bulging at mental chains.
Glitter through the Elven Gates,
Return to an inner child-like state.
Bounding limitless in God's sky-lake.

How could I compress
translate, much less express
How one single mode of thought
Could release you from the illusion
          in which you are caught.

Never let your self be bound
by who are scared to go beyond;
Who think that their way is
the only way that has been found.

613

They shut me up in Prose—
As when a little Girl
They put me in the Closet—
Because they liked me “still”—

Still! Could themself have peeped—
And seen my Brain—go round—
They might as wise have lodged a Bird
For Treason—in the Pound—

Himself has but to will
And easy as a Star
Abolish his Captivity—
And laugh—No more have I—