Through the tainted window of my eyes
I see in wait a hundred epic stories
Standing at the same corner of their lives,
All with the amity of their own quandaries,
Watching the movement of hurdles upon hurdles
Awaiting a sign to cross the road.
Often misinterpreted as merely the general masses
Seeking a sort of desperate conformity,
Each one endures the weight of matchless burdens
Secreted behind the smiles and colloquity;
They yearn to rid of the gratuitous anguish
But it is a secondary purpose to seek.
A change of signal encourages movement
And a pulse of hope propels the multitude forward
As they move on, despite their accompanying torment,
Toward their own primary destinations anchored
To their personal, exclusive characterizations
Of what one may call success.