I
A million stories for a billion folks,
With a billion foes ready to trash my trillion stories.
One out of these stories I have never told,
Of how you ripped off the light in me,
Like the third part of a triskelion staged off from its setting.
II
Out of the ashes of my words lies the smoke of my diction,
Out of your next apologies lie your next deceitful stories,
You've brought the shame to me and now I bear the scars,
The scars you will never hear in my next tale,
For I am a true survivor.
III
Now there's a part of me myself and I,
That's gone forever in memory like the first milk on a baby's tongue.
The memory of a little boy grown so fast,
Like a seed planted and engrossed with ferterlizers.
IV
Now I've returned back to my life today,
Like the tale of a hero in years behind,
To take up the pains and the truth that I've worn like a battle wound.
As part of my broken past and my confused mind.
V
To lay hold my pen to write another story,
The story of my past memory now worn with pride and dignity,
To fight the billion foes and defend the trillion stories,
To be a warrior not with a sword but with a bleeding pen,
The bleeding pen laying off the fearless lines.
VI
As my words are now my armour,
And my stories my deflecting shield,
So also my pen will forever be my weapon.
.

© Fearless Lines