Rose to a feet to say “hello!”
braced his fists enunciating
– peeling a shell of a placid being.
Word’s opulent toxic charm
– the way of a warrior’
grand gesture, what he had in mind.
Enchanting rhymes of dulcet thoughts
growing red rose of hope inside
but the thorns grow that go along
like the bright day with gleaming sun,
the silver moon with darkness night.
Yet warrior sees with eyes
blind to but petals of his doing
while thorns razor sharp
lurk in the shadow poignant,
thirsty of warrior’s blood
unwilling to let go
shadowy shell of a being.