Fortuitous being,
Soul of tempestuous resolve,
Never caught in slumbers halo,
Always guided by the shiver of fear. Has he the estuary of insight,
That lesser men hail for,
In the caverns of their all too sure,
Moments of victory.
The truth is guilded in the blood,
Of centurys of disguised fractures of diligence,
Where a second glance,
Might have curtailed,
A sea of terror.
It is doubt,
That mesmerizing,
Inimical thought,
That sways the judgement,
To consideration of effect.
An enemy of injustice,
Not a weakness,
But rather,
A strength,
An insurgence of empathy. – Sinz
