he was not a weapon.
he was much too a l i v e,
much too p a s s i o n a t e;
{he was a threat
that breathed air
and a beauty
that conquered fear}
{he was a wind
that ran wild
and a flower
that guarded glory}
he was a leaf
at the edge of an autumn forest,
dripping with red and gold;
burning in brightness and fire.
he was a star
on a canvas of bruised skies,
an explosion of wildness and freedom;
an outburst of temper and desire.
he was possessed
by his own fingers,
too warm to be solid rock,
and too powerful to be compared
by a quick death.
he was not
c r a f t e d
by the hands
of others,
he was crafted
by the hands of
h i m s e l f.
he was not a weapon;
he was a warrior.
