She’ll never love me like the heart of conflict. The smooth glide of her disposition into a foe’s viscerals; how will I reconcile my heart’s mournful state with what I know to be required of me?
“Don’t be static.”
In this dynamic universe all those who simply exist are vanquished.
Only those who become, truly live.
Poetry, as with anything, is earned through hard work.
No, nothing is created by suns alone. Natural genius and talent are inefficient to produce.
It takes struggle and grit to hone a masterpiece.
Are you a masterpiece?
Will you become?
Let’s go for it. – IV