Champions

How can there be;

right or wrong,
good or bad,
yes and no;

every breath is unique,
every voice a beacon
by which the truth
might call;

judgment a foreign
army,
occupying a land
not of its own.

The morning begins
just as it left,
the breaking day looms ahead,
the trail bending and
unclear,
moving forward
with unsettled uncertainty;

there is very little choice.

Illusion remains,
weaving its way into
the fabric of the myth,
mystery hovers like
a descending bird,
with death lying in wait;

mourning the only light
ever known.

I watch these children,
they have more than what
could be considered
humanly possible,
giants in a forest
of dwarfs,
victors in a
world of defeat;

champions amidst
the obscurity.
.
.