My heart now beats to a much more frantic tune,
In a scrimmage with death to rewrite my fortune.
Thoughts; the poison by-product of battle flow,
In the rush of blood that mars repose in its glow. A primeval soul; antiquated beyond its time, Emits scents of a lasting sleep as sweet as thyme. Streams of me that feed my body, heart and soul, Cascade upon my mind and have taken their toll.