when all around me is without form,
there is a jaded peak on which to toil.
when honor and respect seem long dead virtues,
I may always find a society
where they are demanded.
when the weak are easy to leave behind
and I begin to feel more than merely capable,
there is a constant on which to dash my hopes.
all else seems strange,
like stepping into a cave and seeing only
the prehistoric animals which haunt those places.
when words have abandoned and failures mount
like snowflakes on a drift.
love stomps giantly,
stumps gallantly.
I am uncertain but content.
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