In Our Defense

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What am I to you?

 

A basket you had woven with your own two hands, 

deemed unworthy and

spitefully cast aside,

empty.

Soon to be joined

by others of its kind?

 

 

Who am I to you?

 

A soldier of your noble crusade

willing to sacrifice

time, money

life

to feed your children

so they may live to join me in ranks?

 

What do I  know of Love?

 

Love has no meaning now.

Naked beings intertwined;

My love is

debauchery.

My love is unlike your love,

So my love,

is dying.

 

 

You.

Are Dead.

Wrong.

 

 

I am

 

A sculpture,

carved by the wind,

made of the clay of 

him, her, they,

but mostly 

we.

 

 

I am

 

A soldier of words,

Trained for no boundaries.

An eager explorer

ready to sail, soar, freefall,

To teach

The taste of freedom.

 

I know nothing of love.

 

Therefore, I know everything of love.

I worship its abundance,

its forms beyond my mind's measure.

Love is omnipotent.

My love is your love,

and our love 

lives.

 

 

 

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