You permeate, struggle, persevere,
believing its for a reason,
but the books you read as a child
teach only how to build
a coat of armour.

And yet the shield wall falls
at the sight of a glistening horizon
and you drop your sword, your words
atomic in the well of the present.

You Sprint toward the sound of joy,
a figure manifests from the haze of doubt,
Clothed in clouds ripe to rain,
but you choose an alternative to fear
and stagger from the battlefield
with blood on your goosflesh

and the last lesson to be learned
is forever the first one after
you swim toward that Great Dark
at the end of the tunnel.