Nothing marks me like my own voice,

The internal battle,

The ultimate choice.


I am more than The Farmer's hoe,

The anchor infant,

The knots of destiny, tangled,

For I am distant.


My once solid resolve,


Freezes over once more,

And I swear upon his dusty flesh,

That I am more than ice and fear,

Anger, and wasted years.


I am fire and fired from all positions damper.

I am shiny white skin, ever present, and prominent.

I am humorous in hell, and silent at heaven's gates.


I am forgiven, but unforgiving,

Proud of my judgments,

And bitter in treason.


I am exiled without reason.


But I fear not solitude,

And celebrate my isolation,

And new found attitude.


I may be stoned and christened,

By hemp and bloody vowels.

I may be shamed and damned,

But I am not forgotten.


Not by you,


And certainly not by me.