From now on I summon My fugitive selves, All at once to nuance the stitches and shells. Should they not be complete, I will handle it. In the darkest of nights There's no way to keep Unabated light, But to brace my mean heart, Tape it shut but somehow Loose it into the wild. There it goes: Beastly wonderful storm Through the hurdles of challenge; They blazon them selves — yet another refrain of acceptance. Spoken truth is an armour of gold, But my only concern is to hold an opinion of selves, as they matter. After stitches are dealt with, Mostly painfully sheer in their glory, After shells are assumed to be me: I'll summon the suit.
Pardon this free interpretation of the Marvel comic. Still, an inspiring art piece makes it worthwhile to suggest any idea or subjective take on it.