to the henderson and richard men.

my course has been made it's path it's the root of not woman but man.

i bare their sweat, my stems that travel deep,

root's that make up my path is the wihippeds mark on their back, at this is the back bone of their torch their remembrance that i can not share, of deaths secret, as a traveler in the dark, making it's way to the light,

the world is a universe apart, as are lights rays that beg for their travles,

i seek what is out their, hovering over it like a blanket, smothering,taking in it's knowledge, a breath into my soul, my mind is it's bed,

the underwriter of man is my storage of a past, the fight for a line, a unequal strength, a weakness that i refuse to bare,

stem's make up something that long's, unable to be dugged up, unlike the days that repeat themselves,

a woman, fitting into the pants of a man, with much room to spare,

the pulse of thunder beats itself on this beaten path, a rerun of lifes ignorance's is a legacy not to be repeated,

but a vow of something to come, a will not be forgotten,

this is in honor to all the men that make up my gene's, i bow in humage to you.