Coming Through

The painful trials of time lay waste our hope
that dreams and better days, will ever be.
Until the dust, through which we blindly grope
can still, our stricken sense of destiny
appears unsteered and deadset for demise.
The still small voice at core cannot be heard,
until an inner silence muffs outer cries,
and prayers subside, accepting what's occurred.
Our suffering is written; this we signed
as captains of our fate, and karma, too.
On Earth we work to magnify the mind
with virtue's truths, to clarify that view.
'I am' is with you always, breath to breath,
triumphant through delusion, and through death.