Magnificence
The soul is something tarnished, battle worn and scarred
Faded from the inside;
Blackened and charred
Years of hurt and pain, marking the very core,
Branded on the inside as if from a molten ore.
Fire contained within,
Burns insatiably:
Desire to override
and conquest endlessly.
There is a battle being fought on the plains of eternal life,
The war for redemption or to endure eternal strife.
The war is not won
Within a single day,
But for years it is constant,
In a flux of disarray.
Lost to horror in one moment, squelching out the light,
Then drenched in blood the next day, blossoming pure and bright.
Call upon the mighty,
Be faithful; be true,
For even though there is darkness,
Victory can be attained with few
With every minute and breath taken in our time, insignificant,
We can rise above the smoldering ashes of the dead to attain magnificence.
