Out of the womb of pleasure is born
Squalling babes, innocent and pure,
Arriving to travel on a round-trip journey
Back to the Abyss from which they came.
The road of life curves and curls,
Twisting and splintering like fractals,
Songs of heartbreaking woe weave a melody
With intertwining verses of joyous remembrances.
A lonesome figure wanders the path it has chosen,
Vision blurry from the hammering rains,
Its feet slogging through the muddy excrement,
Gusts of cold wind whip its rags into stinging eyes.
Putting one foot in front of the other, one at a time,
Visions, memories, and dreams howl through the chaos
That is its mind, unable to pause, meditate, gather wits.
In a daze, the figure looks up blearily as
Gravel rapidly leads the way to boulders
That start rolling and bouncing down the steep incline.
Unable to dodge, the figure is knocked into the filth.
Screaming, screaming, screaming
Hands clutching, breath gasping, lungs empty
From the vocal release of overwhelming emotions,
Nose plugged with mud, can’t regain breath.
Exhale, open mouth, inhale slowly.
Jaw clenched, chin raising defiantly, held up despite
The wind’s punches, rain’s clawing, and excrement’s dragging.
Bright eyes flash open, determined and adamant.
Fists clench, white knuckled and taut with strength.
Shoulders square, unruly muscles rippling.
Stands tall, heedless of the torrential torment,
And screams with heart and soul:
“I WILL NOT YIELD!”