If life is an art, I will keep etching and chipping until I have it just right. Even if it costs me my comfort, the cozy tenderness of my pillow. Or indeed my every other taste of pleasure, I will forge out in labour seeking only the joy of living just right. Of marking out my very existence in colour, of becoming a god of my own world. Taking many along the way. Weaklings, ailing and new broods alike. Shielding all under my wing and daring to accept every challenge to realize the bounds of my own strength.
And when the time is come and all strength gone I will meet my creator proud to have lived a life of purpose, and in the moonless nights we will spend nights chatting on how many lives I had birthed and the realms of my knighthood, a Christ in my own making.
~For preoccupation and nurtured endurance are a mark of existence ~
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