You have your hands around my mouth,
That's ok because I don't need to shout.
I have patience in me,
That transcends with tranquillity.
What you are trying to breach,
Isn't woven in my sleep.
You can't devour,
The wrath of my silence.
This fight you give,
Stand alone,
With swords of your violence.
Shielded so tight,
A loner in the battlefield.
A gun- you coward,
Words are what I weave.
Solitarily I stand,
On the brink of my ruins.
A pariah mould,
Knows not to fix what's not broken.