Atticus Fife plundered his tomes and fondled his books with his milky eye. A shade of grey has crept into his blue, and The Help is more helpful as of late. He shuffles, having lost his gait, but never does he wander off... Atticus Fife glissandos over the parchments and leather-bound lungs. He inhales the Past; elated. His limp eyes galloping over the deserts of his un-simple mind, past the creekbeds of his revery, and the unspoken Hopes of his Frailty.

Atticus Fife, leads a very fine Life... Like a Destiny.

Or a lamb to the Doubt.

Happily.

We may all seem different,

but at the end of the day,

we’re all the same in lots of ways.

No matter where we’ve been,

or who we’ve seen

The consequences of our actions

ultimately add up.

It’s not just a dream.

We must not fear,

And if we stand up,

the goodness within

will overpower.

This is enough.

We may have different beliefs,

labels and signs,

But if we are true to ourselves

it will all be just fine.

And when we reach a point in our lives

when it’s time to say,

stop crying,

I knew it would happen anyway.

Accepting and loving,

this is my virtue.

Open and honest,

I hope I have taught you.

Overcome your prejudice

and make ends meet.

You know I always say,

don’t do it in your home

if you won't do it on the streets.