Bruised and beaten, black and blue,
Climbed the peak, having won the battle.
Sets his fierce eyes on life anew,
To break another limit, the painful shackle.

A tree he spots, to mark with his pug,
He calls it his, this piece of wood.
Engulfed with pride, that stature, the ****,
Sees only the battles he won and the ones he could.

He forgets not those million scars,
The tissues that made him only stronger,
The days he spent behind those bars,
The ones so long, those nights of anger.

Gathers them all in this one mighty breath,
Smears his symbol of rage on this tree,
Announces to the jungle beneath,
He is here, now wild, he is is free.

Letting the roar out, he looks below,
Making his presence felt, majestic, his vibe,
Knowing not what's ahead, the peaks to conquer,
the rivers that flow.

This eternal solitary vibe,
The one I imbibe,
Gives me shivers when I think of him,
My alter ego, the face within.

I share his freedom,
The peace sublime,
And I set out to roam the jungle,
Among the brave, those masters prime.

There
Is
No
Problem
Of
Being
Rich
Or
Poor; the biggest problem lies in the difference between our thinkings!

I do not trust trust,
no it is to good to trust.

i do not hope for hope,
it is to good to hope.
me i am cold.dark.frozen.

There is nothing left,
there was never anything in the first place.
The meaning of the words elude me.

no

i don't trust trust,
because it reminds me of me.
And me, i cant not help but love my demons,
because they are all i have left to remind me of the trust in hope i once had.