A dip too low, greeted by bramble.
Thorn after thorn impaled in tawny ruffles.

     Shackled by intermittent potential.

Accustomed to slow dives and gradual descent,
The discouraged has slowly acclimated to the mediocrity of the dry brush,
Devoid of verdancy.

Wisps of alabaster that sashay in deep cerulean
Do nothing more than beleaguer the tormented soul of the incapable.
 
     Unattainable,  insurmountable.

Yet welled in pools of onyx
Lies resolution.
Those predestined for failure have all the more reason to strive for success.

     It is only instinctual, after all.

Life is but a series of rise and fall.