A smile that glistens wide,
and rivals that of the sun,
You shine more golden bright,
than horizons by the thousand.
Beat the drums that do wake
sleeping, bled, timid heart,
Pump my soul back into shape
bring back life once depart.
You turn to hallow graying ground
and collapse pillars that belittle,
You fill hollow bones of holy sound
temper the brittle to solid metal.
So stand and whittle them down with
strength found within inside of you,
You are a miracle and a curse that
You choose to give with all of you.

I will not warrant kingdoms
My name wants no crown
My garbs need no insignia
My shield is strong -
without a crest and banner
I stand on my own two feet
but I will allow my self to
Rest upon a shoulder
and let my heart beat
entwine it with another's
I wish not for kings -
I wish not to be a king
just be a pauper with me.

Born of ironwood and oak -
raised amidst fields of gold,
though rust tried to take you hold,
You mold your self to diamond hope.

Frigid fire and scorching cold
blue from such happiness -
one's youth found in the old,
clinging onto letting go, such paradoxes.

You are salt and sweet of the Earth,
Honey and sweat and wine and seas -
The kindling wood, fires of hearths,
The rush, sway, and rustle of trees,
You are thirst and quench of lands,
A forest and a desert rolled into one,
You are warmth and scorching hands,
My darkness, my light, void and sun.