Purpose

 

Towards the winding trail of the west,

I see an imminent, raging tempest.

Yet it shall never win,

from the storms held within.

 

The mockeries of pain,

Shall not go in vain.

For I shall ever aspire,

'Till I quench my ambitious fire.

 

The wrought iron of my devotion,

Shan't succumb in mere corrosion.

Endless shall be my purpose upon this soil,

And I promise so shall be my toil.