Monday, April 11, 2016

Fighting chance

A joyous journey turning treacherous
Could well spell the end to a path,
Not always does it lead to the edge of a cliff...
Choices may have been not willful,
Intentions partly shrouded in mystery,
But causticity only lingers so long in time as consented,
'cos hope is never too far out of reach,
In any outcome, there is hand to play.

So be how battered and bruised,
Disfigured, beat and broken,
If pain clings like the sweet scents of Gardenia,
And breath is felt as chest heaves,
Rhythmic with the gentle throb of that sickly but living heart,
Then life is still more than widow's mite...
Raise that bloodied chin high to the heavens in defiance,
For in every (wo)man, there is a fighting chance!

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