Racing towards raging tides with no fear of death inside raging against a pacing mind as predicaments perpetrate prophetic signs, immersed in emerging truths discerning proof that the path is littered with: inverted roots. The worth of my youth lurks on boots of deserting troops of god as they stamp down the meaning upon my skull with a burning rod, attempts upon my soul but redemption is my goal as I seek the flow of peaceful rivers to be delivered: like sinners who eventually fold. Cut down from the feet until defeat meets them at the knees like the breeze travels with razors and cuts us with ease, until the rawness of flawless pain breaks the ball and chain of slavery and debt becomes another name for bravery they can take me but don’t expect me to be kicking and screaming as they drag me from a false sense of freedom: from the life of a heathen.