The Great Visions of life shall not be
Hallowed
nor calloused
by the meek tragedies of superstition, betrayal, or loss
Rather, they spring and transform, release and unravel
Do what you alone can demand,
For power lies steadily nestled
In the soft, lined contours of your hands

Trials of Misery,
Barely tenuous links of destruction
Or forms of lodged fear stubbornly
Cling to the tiny, supple tubes of
Life that anxiously beat
Beneath your warm skin,
Skins of memories,
Glimpses of chance await
The will, the strength
Of marchers

Who dare stomp, face
The test of time,
The sons of anarchy,
The sands entailed by darkness’s coat
To achieve the seemingly insurmountable

trials of misery