He walks to the sound of his own drum,
You'll never find a rule of constant,
Never ceasing to amaze of change,
Defending those of his crumbled stone,
Taking upon a heart of crystal,
Around coal of surrounding lungs,
Breathing darkness into flowered minds,
Attempting to make of them fields,
He holds to his name nothing but lights,
Creating stars upon dark skies,
The beating hearts of words unspoken,
It what he draws as dew in dawn,
A safened place of softened holds,
Such trust combining twists of forgotten feelings,
Never spoken always felt,
As nothing wrong can be made,
Such a defense he builds walls,
Ones wished to be brought down,
As his soul holds simple light,
Of purity previously forgotten,
No level been met by past life,
As he sets the bar of standard,
As if written by his name,
Such fame held only by truth,
Holding nations at his shoulders,
He may fall as others rise,
But he allows such with a smile of note,
Pride streaming from lit eyes,
A spirit in its sensing,
Allowing snowfall in its rain,
Of such a smile brings forth northern winds,
As the world begins to storm,
Nothing phases and nothing changes,
Yet nothing stays the same,
A glowing light of founded stars,
To be seen in flowing eyes.
A phantom of a touch,
Light of feathers by the face,
By mind but not by sight,
As sight is never what one wants to see.