So Then...

Despite our resolve, the embers of our convictions will not allow themselves to simply be shrugged off our shoulders. We fan them as we pace towards the shade. All we can try do is ignore the smell and pray the scars fade soon. To the simmering of our skin we drawn into the arena of reflection. There logic as hard as lead is sharpened and brandished against the certainty our past projects with shields of hearts and tears. One can seldom hail a victor until the final blow is swung, but never is there an encounter where no blood is spilt or no eulogy sung.