InVistaArts

He’s easy to pass by, his solemn slouch still, transfixed eyes staring off, reliving his decades past. Children point in concern, while parents hush them along, his stained hood droops lower, a poor forgotten outcast. The weathered shell of a man, poor in every material, yet rich in his history, not knowing which meal is his last. His friends are long gone, his family forgotten to him, his deeds, though great, do nothing for him now. Knarled hands hold out a cup, his coffee from last week, the chill air nips at him, it’ll be a hard night’s sleep tonight. His possessions are few, his clothes are what he wears, his home i

Elation will drive you onward, the hero’s quest calls, begging you to step forth. Float transfixed and unhindered, purpose driven, until the trumpets call you home. Onward through the flames, fear not your wounds, for they are superficial, your cause is noble, the heart sees clear, nothing will stop you. Thunder crashes with your shout, light fuses with your strikes, your torrent a flurry, a chorus of blood and bone, rhythmed to your pulse, as you push ever onward. The path is daunting, leading you through thorn and marsh, careening you through seas, plunging you into darkness, punishing any idleness, driving you onward. The challen