Until every word is spent
Madly delivered, in manic disarray
They yield to no form
No couth, no glamor!
Plummeting, in sheets of erratic beauty

Pubs lift their mugs
To this maestro of stanza
For liberation births
By the words of a mystic son

Pubs thrash and rave
Careless with cheery purpose
Hoisting, their cherished and priceless issues

They remain
Bliss-shroud
Set adrift in their peaceful and rosy delusions

“HE must!”
Gorge upon life’s greater taboos
Masculine and heartfelt
Honorable, stoic and brave

“HE is!”
The iron blade at the helm of each garrison
Armor clad
And thirsting for malice

Rumors spawn at the slightest wisp
Savagely etched into fertile minds
They ascend and blossom
Ravaged by color
Perfumed and sweetened
Safe, for weaker girth

Truth is
SHE must!
Gorge upon life’s greater taboos
Feminine and heartfelt
Honorable, stoic and brave

SHE is
The sharpshooter, cradled in ruin
Clad in her own stealth
Awaiting, with deathly precision

Courage, dwells within her stride
Called upon, by a cautious and strategic whim
With all care
Mapped, and diligently pondered