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Warring Against The Visscitudes


Oh this cruelness of fate, I am not yet done.

I will not yet cease from mental fight nor shall my heart in some concession stop beating.

Nor shall my sword sleep idly in my hands, nor will I neglect to lift my shield against thee.

Oh fate, you cruel bitch and son of a whore, I do not accept thine dictates for my own;

And as men before me have become great though few, taking up arms against you and your certainties, and defeating you subduing you;

And though the number of those men who've conquered you be so small that I can count them on fingers, and still yet not drop the sword from my grasp;

Still, all this and yet, oh fate, I dare stand up and challenge thee as did they;

For I shall not whimper as the light in me dims, fearful of the encroaching night;

I do not know if the light in my eyes be there or not, but there is light in my spirit yet to fight;

And light to protect and spread about, to share in love with others, in defiance of death and defeat;

That is the light I protect, whether or not it be seen by men or not or one or all;

It is the light that can stay defeat, and drive back the dark in all of it's awful and popular might;

For this light, this hope, I shall giddily defy,

And draw my blade to fight a thousand myself alone:

For there be few greater reasons for which man can die,

than for true love, and for that love to survive and be sown.

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