(Originally written February 28, 2010)

Upon the ebony cloud of midnight,
Where not a single soul has crossed the way,
Where starlight and moonlight have taken flight,
From the barren landscape that knew no day.

Upon this garden of deserted hope,
A lonesome traveler pursues the road,
And tries all his might, with each hardship cope,
But feels with each stride the weight of his load.

The road is long, the journey gets harder,
And as presently the traveler cried:
"Is there no end? I could go no farther!
The dark grew denser the harder I tried!"

And by chance he cast his eye about him,
And through the wafting dark he saw it all,
The tragedy of a deserted dream,
Withered, fallen, as the Autumn leaves fall.

Without hesitation, again he stood,
And once more he shouldered his heavy load,
Of dreams and fantasies, willpower's food,
Resolutely again, he walks the road.

And knowing though it may take him ages,
He vows to succeed where no one else had,
Maybe leafing through history's pages,
One day we will read the distance he spanned.

And from this great soul, a lesson is wrought:
No battle is won, unless it is fought!