Harsh, is the day,
That banishes my right.
Cold, is the way,
Of the quickening night.
Lords of disdain
Would drive me to the dirt.
Long, is the pain,
The suffering and hurt.

But, I do not fall,
No, I swoop, then I rise.
Break through the wall,
As I reach for the skies.
Amid all the hate,
With its incessant ills.
To suffer fate,
Through malevolent wills.
They’ve battered, bruised,
Yet, I’ll not be broken,
Spat, and abused,
But I am awoken.

I rouse, resist,
Gain fortitude of mind.
Grow, and persist,
And in time may I find,
My ascendancy.

by Sam Bartle 
(© Copyright  Sam Bartle 2025)