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I cannot let today end.

I must hold onto my defeat.

I cannot see what you see.

How close am I really?

To victory?

I am a weathered rock-

not meant to last

the ages, the lifespan

of the Earth, and

universe for that matter.



I should demand

to be time itself,

the only everlasting force

but in time of turmoil

I will be nothing but remorse

and suicidal urges.



All that I am,

all that I will be,

is a weathered rock.

And I am happy to be

just that.

Today, my hands and feet fall

into predestined places

and I breath the predetermined air,

that the universe set before my face.

Tommorow, my hands and feet will

not fall into predetermined places.

They will travel the median between the road

that leads me to the same predetermined place.

I delight in cold nights.

The wind's icy breath

births clean and clear air.



I delight in winter nights.

The snowy scapes and

iced over tree claws

bring a universal beauty

to all left un-human touched.

Step one is here I am.

Step ten is my who and why.

I know not the when, where, and how.

Only step ten- the very last- is extraordinary-

no less extra-ordinary than the universe.