From the moment you could stand,

A torrent of elemental forces have been eclipsed by you,

Resenting your audacity to defy their influence,

Every effort has been made to force you into submission;

Playing with your life like a casual pastime,

Rejoicing at your struggles as if they were a satisfying result by design;

Although your impact on them is marginal,

They remain determined- simply, because:

The manner of your existence has sought to rise above your station, and emerge nominally into theirs;

Wherein, from your perspective:

Tortured fables berate and assail ;

Like rapids over jagged stone,

Worn down to smooth pebble,

As the journey slowly creeps forward,

Crawling on bended knees:

Over barbs and broken glass of every description;

On scuffed knees and trailing blood-soaked,

Before the altar of hope;

Until health deteriorates,

Morale fragments,

Haunting you with doubt,

As you reach nearer the doors,

Will you be un-bent and undefeated,

Or a total spent force?

Counting the minutes in anticipation,

Bearing criss-cross scars,

Near-crippled,

Nursing open wounds, and more besides,

Both within and without;

Then stand-up on painful broken, deformed limbs,

No matter how pathetically,

And scream your defiance at your maker,

Or, whoever stands behind those pearly doors,

Your would-be-torturer-by-proxy,

And, decry:

‘You have taken everything from me i’ve ever had,’

‘Done your worst and then some,’

‘But, here. I. Still. Stand.’

‘Do your worse,’

‘For I have long passed caring’,

As you have become numb to all feeling, save one:

Revenge.