The livid life form,
all consuming storm,
drowns those from within,
who are nearly dim,
and knows not mercy,
for those are pursy,
Breaks life and sorrow,
until dusk and morrow.

Yet eager tempest flows,
fast forward he goes.
Within the depths lows,
not one step he slows.

As eager tempest flows,
along the path he chose,
under shade and wind blow,
his resolve does grow.

Insignificant, he follows storm path,
under tempest most true magnificent,
against heaves and throws, fury above circling,
not ever hopeless nor at all tensed.
Yet even evermore, conflict is delight,
in the eyes of a man on trek through blight.
For even threat demise and painful, bitter end,
will not stop those, whose angry souls are to mend.