Every day we fight, we battle and we die
born anew in the morning light; we grow to be ready for the war that looms on the horizon.
Power is meaningless in this struggle, for the past haunts our choices
and the fog of fate heaves over the mountains of our lives.
Rolling over the glimmer of warmth that once consumed our eyes.
hope, while not lost, stays hidden so that it is not accosted by despair;
The lawlessness of a course grind that continues to feel eternal as the clock circles endless turning monuments into ruins
we shrink to the occasion so that we may grow beyond the limits once presented as fact
If the moment my rest becomes my life, and I can no longer differentiate between the person that has risen from the rubble;
then today, I rise.