I am anxious
My sights are set on tomorrow and the darkness is terrifying
It fills me with the desire to keep these tired eyes open
Propped up with needles, pins or fingers
A battle against sleep, time and next
Maybe in the victory I desire, I will remain in today
Maybe I the victory I desire, I will be prepared
Maybe in the victory I desire, I will find the peace for tomorrow
Maybe
The sun rises tomorrow
From its slumber at last, it emerges
Glorious in its brightness, radiant in majesty
Most beautiful of all there is
And to the sons of men, it shows favour
So with a loud voice, they roared at the sun
“Chase back the night to its pits
Let it run from your illumination
Let morning fill the heart with vitality
And the noon, charge men to victory”
And so they ran
Ferocious in their bidding
With tremendous might and speed, they darted
Pillaging all that lay before them
Ravaging the earth till they thought they were gods
Gods, of who’s desire, none can reject
And in their stupor they forgot
They forgot that slumber awaits the sun
And its path, drawn across the stars, is a circle
One that rises and sets
One that blinks and tires
One that goes succumbs to the charm of slumber
In their stupor, they forgot this sun sets
And the vices of men must come to rest
This, they so eagerly forgot in the current of their boastfulness
Rest oh man
Fill your body with calm
And let your mind be overshadowed by critical thinking
That you may find patience in its mist
And humility in its tenets
Rest, in the comfort of night
Walk from guilt
Walk, that the light of the morrow, may drown out the night
Walk on towards the horizon
Walk till the now, screams in surrender
For the chains of yesterday are strong
They hold steadfast, the heart of the saint
And the soul of the sinner, have they weighed to the earth
Latching onto his arms and back
Wrapping around his ankle and neck
And this wrists, have they bound together
That all efforts may be futile
And all hope, restrained
But to keep your eyes on the rising sun is redemption
With gaze searching for its emergence
That’s its warmth may melt the chain
That they may melt these bondage that so weighs you down
And then these feet may find liberty
Arms, swing in triumph
Lungs, rowing in victory
But the moment is not done
The now is not satisfying
For one must persist
Persist far beyond the grasps of guilt
For though its chains reach the ends of the earth
The heart of the contrite marches onward; resolute
When the bleakness of the day stands before you
Oh! How mountains look so tall
For infants play at the foot of the hill
Heads cocked back; their eyes are lifted
To the shoulders of the father they stare
The vastness of giant-ness they behold
Their eyes rested on the eternity
And with admiration, they admire the forevermore
For (their) hearts cannot grasp, a day of such heights
And minds experience, the broadness of these shoulders
No! These minds cannot comprehend such as the advancement of growth
Step back, you little one
Let the deception of vision, be your salvation
Embrace its fallacy
That you heart may be lifted
Lifted from the awe of mountains
And the astonishment from giants, may be lost
Only then can you, little one, climb up the hill
And on its peak establish your kingdom
For what once towered, now lays beneath your feet
Step back, little one
Let the vastness of this mountain call to you
Let its towering peaks, beckon to your daring heart
Let the illusion of distance, lead your heart to courage
That you may rise from fear
And from the clutches of awe, charge to victory
Then, your glories will traverse the mountain tops
And the lips of history will tell of your disdain
Or at the very least, will make toast to your courage
Can one claim victory to battles not fought?
Is the conqueror the one who lifts the trophy?
Or does commendation go to the one who still stands to tell a tale
Lo, a trophy is lifted high, by one in sparkling armor
For the day is present: One where trophies are bought by the cunning
And determination is spent in vain
For the fighter lays in dust; Battered, bruised and famished
And the wrestler is sat in the mud
But another in clean clothing, holds high, the trophy of victory
Lo, another trophy is held high
For another owns the gold
And the mine from where it comes
He beckons to the gold and blacksmith
That to his plinth, should a symbol of victory be placed
And of his bountiful heart, should victory be based
But lo, the fighter lays in the field
And the fields are no longer green
Can one claim victory to battles not fought?
For wise words and strong philosophies are easy to buy
And in short spouts, they fill the realm of discuss
That the heart of one may seem full of knowledge
And his walk may seem pristine
But what are principles without dents?
What are morals if not tested
They weight nothing more than a box of feathers
Easy to keep in the days of low winds
Boastful in its steadfastness, and prideful in its comfort
May the winds strike it hard, and lift it from its comfort?
May the wind leave it to rest unchallenged?
He who owns the gold, should be mindful of his trophies
He who bleats out wise words, should be mindful of challenges
He who is quick to brandish principles, should be cautious of confrontation
For the heart of man will act of its own volition
Principles will differ from mere words
And instinct, is no respecter of wise tweets
Can one claim victory to battles not fought?
Or steadfastness to principles not tested?
or faithfulness to morals not shaken?
Be mindful of your boast
For the heart of man, in the day of strong winds, will act of its own volition
Principles will differ from mere words
And instinct, is no respecter of wise proclamations
The world hits hard, and it never lets up
Its grip is steadfast even in the face of the defeated
For its cruelty is unwavering
It remains relentlessly on the offensive
Working the demise of its patrons
It cracks its whip, and sends terror through the heart of the many
Of the meek and defiant, it punishes without bias
It rules over the strong and weak alike; never discriminating
It repeatedly serves each a new bout of agony
A new one even before the the first is done
This world is a master like no other
Its propensity to push man to the ground is limitless
Strike after strike, it attacks
Waiting for the strong to double over in pain
And with a mouth filled with agony, give up
It stands over the fallen; impassive
And again, sends their skull deeper into the ground
For its victory is not in the breaking of man
No! Its victory lies in the continual torment of people
A cruel master like none has ever seen before
Who can stand in the face of such cruelty?
Step up! That your resolve may be broken
For even the strongest of warriors have lost on many fronts
And the mighty at will, have succumbed
Your resolve is not victory
Neither is your tenacity, success
For the world; the cruel master, seeks that from you
It desires the resolute; a fighter that never quits
That it may be kept entertained
Till its ally, death, comes for his prize
Never has a warrior known his strength
Unless in the presence of a horde
Never has a victor known his glory
Except in the face of his challenge
Why then do you stare at me in my troubles?
Why then is there discord in your countenance?
For your eyes are loud and clear
And your shoulders, clear as day
Never has a king known victory
Except in the face of war
Never has courage grown to heights
Except in the face of fear
So why do you disregard my quiver?
When of it, is my axis of perseverance
Why do you disdain my apprehension?
For by it is my antithesis for balance
Never has a decision been made
Unless in the face of alternatives
Never has a resolve been strengthened
Except in the face of resistance
For in my weakness, did I cherish strength
And in my fall, did I revere the hill top
So look upon me with optimism or pessimism
But never, disregard my crossroad
This must be fire, for I can smell the flames
Never will I open my eyes
Never will I give this, the privilege of my vision
For I dread its smirk
I dread the gloat of victory
I am a victim of my shame
How does shame smell like fire?
How does guilt feel like water?
For the former consumes my entirety
A destruction of me and all I am
The latter rests on and surrounds me
A daunting weight that bends my back
But is not this brink, the only point for glory?
Is not the crossroad the point of introspect?
Who can claim victory without a fight?
Who can claim valour, without staring at death?
What are principles, if they are not put under the weight?
What are right choices, if there is no room for wrong?
Burn! You flame of shame
Consume yourself, for I am all but spent
That in the glory that lays beyond the ashes
Is the splendour that is gold to all
And in the pressure that you, guilt, muster
Is my princess, the diamond from my rough
Keep going, for the now is not for you
Victory may very well lie ahead
Relief, on the other side of the trees
Joy could be at the end of the story
And your dreams, way beyond the hills
Ride the storm, for sinking may not be for you
The shore may be beyond this wave
Relief, on the other side of the downpour
The sun may be at the end of the story
And you desires may be beyond the rain
Burst forth, though the fatigue
Let the panic cause a surge of energy
Hold on to the adrenaline
Claps your teeth hard
Let the grunt fill your mouth
Let your muscle stiffen till they fault
Fill your gut with fury
And your heart with resolve
Let rage rise in you
Demand tenacity from your being
For victory may never come
And this stormy night may be your last
So let insanity rule
Ride the storm to ‘Valhalla’
Demand glory from the night that encompasses
If victory is a delusion, get drunk on it
Treat yourself to another night of relentless battle
And burn the forest down with your hope
And maybe, glory might find you irresistible
Maybe the sun will admire your flames
Keep going, for now is not for you
Ride this storm, for sinking may just not be for you
I lifted my chin and looked at the one standing before me
Feeble in way and wavering in though
Frail in statue, frail in demeanor
What can I to do with what I see before me?
I kept my chin up and looked intently at me
Scared to the bones and entertaining the urge to flee
Doubtful of the most basic of things to be certain
What have I to stand here for?
I propped my chin up, and confronted who I saw before me
Would the battle inside be the death of me?
Is victory so mundane that I should give up?
What have I to loose if I stand?
I held my chin up and the smirk crept up gently
Victory would mean nothing if I did not fight for it
For in the turmoil that precedes, the brewing is intensified
Why on earth would I give up?
I let my chin down for a moment and in salute of me
To be wonderfully crafted is the highest of excellence
To be fearfully made carries a great responsibility
Why should I lack this courage
I lifted my chin and looked at the one standing before me
Feeble in way but tenacious in-spite
Frail in statue but overwhelming in countenance
Why should victory evade me?
rraq 