So here goes my story telling of this soul
All as in the pieces and all as in a whole
Brave as warrior and victim of its own virtues of time
All scared and still fine
In its inner propaganda and its great urge
The hell and the heaven merge
The philosophy of its own kind
The pieces of art that never goes to any mind
Seventy assumptions and thirty facts
The whole existence tangle up with some tacts
The circumstances have indeed molded it for so far
But again wasn’t only about it but the beating inside desire’s war
What enigma has it become?
The angle and the demon with it loudest drum !
No particular physics, No Precise the image
but the intense scrimmages
scratching the shell, discarding itself to the outdoors
but where would it go instead falling on the floors
No legs to walk, No words to talk,
No roots below, No wings for high
No precise name to name
for something like that, whom you can blame?