Champions

how can there be right or wrong,

good or bad, yes and no,

every breath is unique,

every voice a beacon by which 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.

.

.