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Humans find a metric to measure everything - scaling down uncertainty and beauty into a concept so small or mundane that it makes it easy to understand.

The depths of my soul is something that has no metric.

It is the home of untainted imagination;
It is the example of unwavering dedication;

It is an engine room feeding an insatiable furnace.

No metrics, because there is no uncertainty: My soul…

…cannot be scaled down and cannot be understood.

…understands no threshold of sacrifice, compromise or impossibility that it cannot satisfy.

…is the one thing that goes beyond everything that makes me mortal.

…renders no occasion so safe or so out of reach it will not rise to.

It loves fiercely, fights violently, protects always.

The beauty: My soul…

…holds that very breath God breathed into me when I was first born… forever fanning my insatiable furnace to flame.

Thank you God, for my *unconquerable soul
Unconquerable Soul referencing the Invictus Poem by William Blake and is not my quote.
Aditya Roy Jun 17
The night holds its knife
Close to the threads that hold my soul
It stretches its fingers across the blade
And sends me surging into the starry skies

Until the morning comes with its blanket
Covering all of me with its threads
Renewing me with purpose and life
Each time it stretches

With each passing hour
A frail voice consumes me
I'm left paranoid and hollow
By the time the night creeps in

Like an old stranger walking in my head
Their footsteps rattle me
Shattering the interweaving
That hold this mask in place

My nerves weaken as does my will
Until I think upon the lilies
Blooming in the sleepiest of dawns
I let go of my blanket
In surrendering,  
Light breaks through the shadowed veil,  
Victory in grace.
I stood in silence, and though the world offered me no time, I stole some time, and I relished in the victory of the moment I had stolen.
It belonged to no one, save me.

-Rhia Clay
Bekah Halle Jun 4
My voice may not be sung.
But tis in the things done
In the choices I make — 
Good, bad. Unknown, they leave their wake — 

In the stories wrote,
In the battles fought.
In the colours I paint,
And decisions without constraint.

On the quiet places, it resonates,
Growing deeper with faith,
The tune changes,
With the new victories, He arranges.
What is victory?!  How can we quantify it? And who claims it, you or I?
Prosper Yole May 22
Roes of beauty packed in frame
A sizzling body that makes insane
Ways so ****, I barely wade
Hey, I stay, but never bade

Waist to hold, a pose to wear
Your gentle ******* cushions my chest
When I lean, your lips lay bare
Inviting me to mate me there

The wine is brewed, very satisfying
With gaze in eyes that glow ablaze
Oh, how I love her, don't you say
Hope I get, a chance to taste

Nigh and high, Victory voice's calls
It soothes so well, I feel the love
When she's not there, it makes me bored
So wrestle I, till she rests on me
Victory may be a person or someone you greatly cherish
Cheyenne Apr 25
I have ended wars single handedly,
Brought gods broken to their knees,
And dragged down the very lights
From the gods of Heaven.

But my greatest victory
Was always that I was the fire,
That sparked your brightest smiles.
You haven’t sung this song for some time
The pain returns tears well up in your eyes
You’re writhing like twisting, turning, treetops in a storm
No comfort coming your way
Just endless waves of torn
You’ve got no time for this but time is all you have left
The disease is torturing you to Death
You give it nothing but it takes it all your breath
Your insanity wrecks havoc on you Day and Night
Your lovely soul keeps you in the fight
Don’t let a pirate in the night steal you blind
You’ve everything and nothing to lose
Dark machinations it has for you
Gray glowing moon
No more Silver Spoon
Twisting turning room for you
The Demon returns until Balance you earn
Steady your rudder
Hands upon the wheel
Find your center and Victory you shall steal
Beneath the weight of starless nights,
He carved his path through fractured light
A scholar' s heart, though hunger gnawed,
In lecture halls, his dreams he thawed.

No coin to claim a bed's embrace,  
Yet courage etched his weary face.  
Cold floors, stale bread, and borrowed showers,
But hope persisted through the hours.

“Define your goal,”his voice now rings,  
“Let every step to purpose cling.”
Through storms of doubt, he held the flame,
And grit became his middle name.

No grant nor state would stake his claim,
Yet social media fanned his aim.
Strangers became his steadfast kin,
Their faith a balm for wounds within.

Now standing tall, degree in hand,  
He maps the way for others’ land.
“Your trials are seeds” he softly shares,  
“For blossoms thrive through unkind airs.”  

Resilience wrote his story’s creed
Not born of luck, but planted seed.
A testament to hearts that fight,  
And turn the darkest voids to light.
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