I guess I was wrong, 220. I can still write poetry.
So much charge is held within a name
A syllable or two in which to tame
A life so full and wondrous seems a shame
To toast that word equating it the same
To life and love, I am electrified
For willful, woken ways I took, I sighed
Without remorse, I took the wheel and tried
To wend humanity to dignified
√
Bulletproof, once more
In depths of vast complexity, a chore
Precisely scripting notes and words of score
Assuring that I staunch the wounds that tore
Releasing all humanity to soar
Undoing wasted beast that mankind wore
That filled humanity with wasted lore
Of foulest angst of all the days of yore
Thus, halting man's humanity before
The life could liberate as something more
Revealing trap behind the iron door
Removing thorn; revealing what's in store
The thorn of loss compels the lion's roar
I find I must be bulletproof, once more
And require another lifetime
