Relief

I tank myself,

in distant sense,

to gather what I must.

 I see the wares,

in closeness stare,

to stand for what I trust.

I carry armor,

bright and true,

protecting me from all of you.

 I don't know when,

I don't know why,

my nerves are stirred straight through.

It's sort of strange,

to feel deranged,

but compliment the blue.

I know myself,

and I was Two,

I could not walk away.

An understanding of woeful sense,

making me rather tense,

relief is on its way.

K.A.P.

5/10/2009