My brow isn't daunted by the steep rise.
Have legged a few jagged bumps on the way
undeterred and never paused to wonder
why nettled thorns stung my skin in malice.
To make a name in the sky is no piffle.
Rolling moments blink and pass in eternal
tussle between the spark and the dark.
I lock the sparks in my palm, a precious jewel.
They are many, yet worth the catch.
Moments that didn’t die in memory.
The starry-eyed with no sweat on their brow
always have the sky in their reach.
Fortune favours the star born, not blessed.
Never pine for what is not in your domain.
A hundred voices come from a glib tongue
And leave no footprint or a name.
My name is encased in my grounded tone.