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 looming 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.

.

.