Are you truly a winner?
or a loser who's yet to have lost
A millionaire swimming in pools of gold
Without understanding the simple cost
Of the weft of the blank paper
And the weave of the ravenous pen
That lends to mankind what money
Could never begin to lend
It's the warmth of a blazing hearth
Or the vast richness of silt covered snow
A peasant basking in the pleasantries
Of life's everlasting glow
Not splurged and siphoned dollars
On the scourge that tears at your skin
Nor the burden of one's legacy
Which will haunt the ghosts of your kin
If you've forgotten how to lose
You've already lost yourself
Because your triumphs will carve a mountain
Out of the molehill that is hell
Spilled Ink 