When your footsteps are mere apparations
Treading the scorching land before you
And your olive skin drips
With beads of sweat
Underneath the sultry sun
When the glass orb of destiny
Rings with the bitterness of finality
And you stare in shame in the shaking mirror
Mourning the person you've become
Must you coast along a broken sea?
On a quest for the washboard shoreline ahead?
Must you follow the trail of skulls and crossbones?
Into the heart of the lion's den?
Must you carry around the toiling weight?
Of God's eye forsoothing a life so desolate
On your deathbed must you wait?
As you lose your breath and your words grow desperate?
Oh young flower that wilts with age
To the heavens you look with a humble faith
But cast your gaze on the chariot of the East
Alas you shall discover eternal peace
A Future of hope meets the eye
In which Fruit blossoms as the struggle subsides
A past is abandoned as a Future is written
As long as Survival's Fight continues unbidden
Spilled Ink 