Aspirations

The young men that march on the soles of their feet, through defeat, through high water, saved from slaughter by the skin of their teeth. In aspiration of those who work hard, to recharge for minutes in this game of hours, performing all within their power to stay afloat refusing to be devoured. For humans overpowered, showered in toil, who boil without breaking sweat, facing threats and placing bets that tomorrow shall be another day without facing regret.
I find my way out of this circle to observe, but it is impossible to jump back in and serve anymore purpose. A cursive, run on sentence fulfilled as human, in splendor of our substance so prudent beneath the surface. I am but a student of life in full flight, learning as I go, hoping for some more time to expose what our daily worth is before I leave forever through our revolving door.

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