Returning heroes honored in ribbons,
The rich worshipped, their names whispered in awe
By envious lips; the champions face
The adoration of the crowds, who use
Victory in play as a substitute
For a deficit of hope and trophies.
But there is no power as glorious
As a woman who owns body and soul
Striding proud and naked into a room,
Ignoring flaws, alive with confidence that no one
That no one subdue the pure desire
Craving realization. If you hear
The ethereal voice, the eerie cry
Of oblivion, you have found glory.