In a way, I feel like him,
The musketeer, Aramis.
A man, spreading love,
And peace, from his breast.

A soul full of joy,
But blemished by wicked's touch.
Repenting for him and others.
Praying near, a simple blush.

A tongue made of silver,
And well aware who it can slay.
But this strength behind his lips,
Is part of him, in every way.

I sometimes find myself in wonder,
Would he forsaken if he could...
His words of utter sweetness,
So the rest of him, is all that stood.