With each day I wake,

The sun takes its perfunctory route across the sky.

I yearning for strength,

Of body and mind.

Go beyond the limits of man.

Take in stride

The pain of the burdens that weigh you.

Boldness in will

Is to look in the eyes

The contorted face of bitterness

Leading those from mellow amber warmth

To abrupt and ashen trenches.

I am none of such glory,

Compromised

By the everyday strain of life.

Enveloped by the embodiment of malice himself,

I simply divert my vision,

And hide among the masses.

Idly passing time, we stand

Accumulating and drifting

With the concealed yet capable winds of conformity.

I strive, to no avail,

To imitate those with vitality that surround me.

Striding against penetrating winds,

Raw flesh exposed for appraisal.

And with each passing night,

As I fall into my pitiful slumber,

The sun rests for another day

Of its perfunctory route across the sky.