“To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles … ”

I find comfort in the sea of troubles
Yet, I enjoy drama springing from drawn bows
Is it worth the riches doubled
If solely gained through making foes?
A game of thrones is drawn on daggers
Sheathed beneath a sacred cloth
Do you force yourself to stagger
Drawn to the warmth of new gods?
Or do you throw it all away -
A peasant to a smaller fate
To find richness in each new day
Where in small comforts you partake?

Pretentious lies the one being

Left speechless lies his brother

They cannot hope to share what they’re seeing

With
               one
                              another