• Success is a struggle.
    There is no other choice -
    Doing one's best has never rang so true:
    Books read, lavish eternities blossoming,
    Prompts composed, passionate interpretation slicing,
    Theorems known, universal wonders ticking,
    Facts recited, significance solemnly staring -
    All bid me well as I exit the caverns of voices.
    My definite plan is absent,
    Or is it infinite?
    Life's unknown wanderings always concealed,
    Never revealed.
    Wilt now or wilt then?
    Break slow or break in?
    In all the world of thought
    Two realms beckon, gates ajar;
    Old worlds of past invention,
    Failed attempts that run amok
    Threaten to invent themselves again.
    The correct answers spin on endless projections
    Enshrouded by innovation,
    Cast on a representative side.

    The expectation!
    The noise!
    The future!
    If blustery gales could upend the true cacophonies
    Of heat and bitter chill,
    The rain of the roof, of white steel and forgotten will,
    Where subtle fortresses of change float forth -
    Used noise with meaning, all there!
    A future generation might discover it,
    But of what use to them?
    We adolescents collect ourselves into long deserted hallways;
    Our synapses fuse the brightest worlds, then -
    The parties who rest above us, who created us,
    They don't enjoy the facts.
    To harbor a boat in the deadliest dock,
    I, the captain, can foresee,
    First and second mates, the crew, the baroque accomplices,
    Look back upon the horizons of the western sun
    And breathe the words of insistence upon us.
    How dare we refuse?
    No my friend -

    Why can't the winds blow our way,
    Some say.
    How can one just sit and blindly delay,
    Others say.
    Because, I interject fondly with a bitter tone,
    A man is built with an identity
    Given at once, at the moment of thought,
    The flash of existence we all have blindly traveled through -
    To hold it, to know it,
    So one can be a martyr for his own want of soul,
    So one can traipse alone at midnight through blinding snow,
    So one can cry aloud in silent dignity,
    So one day, whatever the method -
    He can decide his path, his gate, his place on the rooftops.

    Not me - I stand where no others stand.
    So what am I to do?