I consider myself quite the individual. When my life’s over I leave a shiny residual. I float, and I flitter swirling like glitter A finger may catch me But only, momentarily

I have space but no room, I can enter but not move, And I can speak without a voice.

Six shots to be fired from the chambers of this gun. And in a round-about way, I am what the Earth is to the Sun.

I am worn by a man who insists I am he Yet I have no stable form I shift and flow through the calm and the storm I am a mere pattern, yet the wicked curse my design I work to bring down he who declares 'Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!'

When a blade cuts both ways, and past harms could scar future, I will help to mend, I am a