Twas years gone by, more than I recall, the sand beneath her feet The warrior lass, who ne'er did fall, stood in the morning sun It fell upon her stately form, light armor shined and neat The stance which had become her norm and caused the weak to run
So long ago, when her father fell, she guarded him with ire A tender age lost to battle's hell, she let no foe come near 'til battle won, and cast his limp husk into the funeral pyre Then trained she well, from dawn until dusk, to give no home to fear
The darkness soon, it became her friend. She stood within it, tall Her soul denied, with her childhood end, the bonny joy of youth And so she stood before all her kin, resolve'ed ne'er to fall Leather and steel now embrace her skin, and have become her truth
Her battles: fierce, her vic'tries many, a champion forged and smart Her temper fair, decisions canny, in elven lore renowned The golden sword, carnelian stone, hard and darkened heart She took no mate but stands not alone, with kith and kin she's found
Then rose she did as she gained repute, princess of common stock A legend born, and none would refute the regal nature there They bade her rule, this reluctant queen, denied her childhood frock Accept she did and upon this scene she ruled them stern and fair
I tell you now, as I breathe my last, before my memory's lost how she was loved by all those she passed, a love profound and deep And still she reigns,o'er our minds and farms, but queen at such a cost The little girl who cried in my arms, and slept her final sleep
I'm a musician, a vocalist, a computer geek, an amateur photographer, a cyclist and an avatar. Go figure.
All works here are copyright fah3.com unless otherwise specified.
My work explores the relationship between new class identities and skateboard ethics.
With influences as diverse as Camus and Frida Kahlo, new synergies are created from both explicit and implicit layers.
Ever since I was a child I have been fascinated by the traditional understanding of relationships. What starts out as vision soon becomes corrupted into a dialectic of greed, leaving only a sense of what could have been and the chance of a new reality.
As spatial impressions become transformed through diligent and critical practice, the viewer is left with a statement of the limits of our condition.