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.

.

.