Realms So Ruthless
November 22, 2014
Fiddling ‘round and ‘round, nothing I have found.
Same old tiring scene time and time again.
Beneath my feet, nothing but cold, dry ground,
Naught sprouting forth since I can’t recall when.
The air ‘round my head so stagnant and dry,
Scalding my lungs each time I dare to breathe.
Hacking, sputtering, I ask myself why
I feel so compelled to not up and leave.
Answer: I know it’s here, and in due time,
I know I’ll find it, Hell or high water,
And once I do, I’ll know just how sublime
Things will end up. Such is why I bother
Carrying on, no matter how fruitless
My mission, even in realms so ruthless.
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