Am I Just another wave of your sea?
Or am I making my heart of forest with trees after trees?
My fire and smith make your blade sharper,
Giving it the best unknown shape,
But if in the lightness of the dark,
My forest gets clear with cuts down barks.
Where will I go? How would I last?
Shorting breath of mine, between
Your blade sharpens me
And going down my veins
Cut them open – they prolong from the same root.
My belief, you won’t ever deforest my world,
Because in day-night cigarettes and turmoil
You said I am your personal.
