The image forms within my mind,
But somehow yet falls far behind.
Dreams and goals all broken shells,
Resolves face torment; torture; hell.
The barren landscape screams the claim
That somehow I’ve been rendered lame.
Strain to stand and always fall
No longer fierce or standing tall.
Defeat’s cold sleet dampens the flame
That fights internal, barely tame.
Recurring blockage threatens ends;
Burning forts hard to defend.
The fiery phoenix burns with shame
That it must fight a losing game.