At times he would not but dares,
Would look through himself how deep,
Who he is and thinks where he lairs,
Tears and anger aren’t enough to weep,
How shallow a life without chance to dive,
But will take this chance search within,
Give him stars to the mind he calls hive,
Let them fall so high and low as he’s in,
This road so vast and rough no stones to turn,
Would he stop now only to find behind so black?
Nay, he’ll walk a few more miles lest he burn,
Though take heed wisdom that once did he lack,
Then, in the creases of dark stirs a thought,
Hence, even the simplest idea turns to light,
When it was his identity that never he bought
Thence became the instinct to work in night,
At once looms through no chills as white snow,
Not even through the darkest night to think,
Accepts the things the ways life does bestow,
That no change can truly come at eye’s blink,
He’d rather the countless hues ye call grey,
A gutting feeling once he called a failure,
Then slowly releases heavy weights at bay,
For that his ship shall promote him sailor,
Roams through harsher seas and calm rivers,
Without dues to folk is but respect to self,
With words they give so much he only shivers,
Very well; let the comedy speak for itself,
True is the fact he’ll laugh a silent death,
This death his ego is soon met an utter end,
Thus is he how humbled a choice made in breath,
The sound of a better cause is his to send,
Ere better fought in life are those demons,
Who justify their ways as the ways of reason,
But shall always remind himself when he’s heathen,
Lest his actions lead him to the ways of treason,
Soon he’ll put these worries of his to rest,
This simple but almighty mirror makes the man,
To give him more his happiness ere in test,
Then sees how more he can forge a better man.

Life, Poetry, Works
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