Running low, here and now I try to cross the meadows of my mind, and though you are not without your doubts, I stumble onward.
Virtue comes looking at me through the glass of a rain soaked window. I try to grasp a semblance of your shadow.
Carry on, marching forward, quickly, men, up ahead is the end….
We slowly approached a steep embankment, arms raised for the battle cry.
We knew in our hearts, with much abandonment, that some of us were going to die.
A crisp wind fluttered the hem of my skirt. My eyes grew heavy with anticipation.
NOT man nor BEAST could hold us back, we had to endure the realization, that although we were just in our enduring cause, we had started this great tribulation.
In my pathos, Mountains are plateaus, and the shore lines bleed red from the endless battles.
Just A Girl In A Whirl 