My soul is the wind, a cool summer night’s breeze,
Tickling one’s skin, a little puppy’s tease,
Soft and gentle, a bed made of flowers,
But with it, soon, an impending storm towers.

My anger, as dark as the depths of the night,
Hates the way things are, and is willing to fight,
For things I must protect, and for things I have lost,
For my rage is cold, as frigid as winter's frost.

But however ways this hurricane may cloud,
Though it seems as undefeatable as dark death’s shroud,
It is a mystery, an enigma, something amazing to see,
A palace of glass, a city on clouds, but above all else, truly free.

My heart is as clear as the surface of the moon,
Delicate like a flower, flourishing in full bloom,
Bending with the wind, as bright as the everlasting sun,
Open to you all, a book, read to everyone.