My loins protected by all truth
A matter in which I live
For a lie is too uncouth
And also bitter to give
My breastplate gone
And humbled tone
I have with it no brawn
But humbly my truth is shone
My feet half bare with worn out shoes
Not prepared but not much to lose
A bare all my shield
I wear it well
I trust in it through even Hell
That trusty metel ever I weild
A helmet sure stuck to my head
Not be rid of it not when I'm dead
But silver crown lay at His feet
I pray my helm sit near His seat
YOU ARE READING
poems
Randompoems by me. Try not to judge too harshly some of these were made at 13-14 years old. The new-ish ones start at "scars inside" so, um... enjoy?
