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Let it pour. . . Resentful hearts, lost amongst the mists of dread. Shed hath what’s dragged behind, only to behold; absorb the distress drained over me. . . Let it pour, washing open wounds. . Swept from the feet, Face down. . . What isn't there to gain when all is lost? Shall I build upon ruins, for what else stands constant enough to uphold my entirety . . . Transmutation of downfall into prosperity builds the superior . . Taking Dreads darkest entity, Forming it to one self so closely, it becomes all but just another useless weight. . . Given what devours hope, What befouls righteousness, Transmute it into brilliance. . . We are not born with a purpose. We are born to find purpose. To live a life worthy of death. Make all things given, into greatness. Darkness; with it, need be Resilience. Resilience with Fertility, will serve one only with prosperity. . .
Poem By Killionare
Resilience
