It's all a lie. All of it. Life is not
The blows we suffer, nor getting knocked down
And then standing. What choice have we? To squat
Down in the gutter? Do we sink and drown
Or die from despair? With brave lies we fill
Ourselves - that we are heroes for drawing
Another breath though we are treated ill,
And harbor vain conceits, like rats gnawing
At our egos, of warriors defeated
In battle, only to return ever
Stronger for the wound. Be you not decieved
My friend, for the hardest blows are never
Those we suffer ourselves, but those recieved
By ones we love. This is the pain life brings,
What becomes of you is the hardest of things.
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