When i was young, my parents gave me this poem in a large poster that took up the side of my wall. I didn’t understand it and thought it was really …, weird. My surprise came where in my late forgetfulness of age when i found myself staring at the poem in my book of the 100 greatest poems and tearing up. <\/p>\n
\nIf – Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)<\/u>
\n<\/strong><\/p>\nIf you can keep your head when all about you
\nAre losing theirs and blaming it on you;
\nIf you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
\nBut make allowance for their doubting too;
\nIf you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
\nOr, being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
\nOr, being hated, don’t give way to hating,
\nAnd yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise;<\/em><\/p>\nIf you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
\nIf you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
\nIf you can meet with triumph and disaster
\nAnd treat those two imposters just the same;
\nIf you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
\nTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
\nOr watch the things you gave your life to broken,
\nAnd stoop and build ’em up with wornout tools;<\/em><\/p>\nIf you can make one heap of all your winnings
\nAnd risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
\nAnd lose, and start again at your beginnings
\nAnd never breath a word about your loss;
\nIf you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
\nTo serve your turn long after they are gone,
\nAnd so hold on when there is nothing in you
\nExcept the Will which says to them: “Hold on”;<\/em><\/p>\nIf you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
\nOr walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;
\nIf neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
\nIf all men count with you, but none too much;
\nIf you can fill the unforgiving minute
\nWith sixty seconds’ worth of distance run –
\nYours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
\nAnd – which is more – you’ll be a Man my son! <\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\nThe words that strike, hot as the cast of a newly forged sword can pierce the heart faster than the most blighted of lead encased copper jacket.\u00a0 I never did like the end, I believed it could have ended better. \u00a0 The poem also cannot be read out loud, it loses something immediately and completely.\u00a0 It however, is still perfection of purpose, which can only find one rival in my mind:<\/p>\n
\n\u00a0Invictus – William Ernest Henley. 1849\u20131903<\/u><\/strong><\/p>\n
Out of the night that covers me,
\nBlack as the Pit from pole to pole,
\nI thank whatever gods may be
\nFor my unconquerable soul.<\/p>\nIn the fell clutch of circumstance
\nI have not winced nor cried aloud.
\nUnder the bludgeonings of chance
\nMy head is bloody, but unbowed.<\/p>\nBeyond this place of wrath and tears
\nLooms but the horror of the shade,
\nAnd yet the menace of the years
\nFinds, and shall find me, unafraid.<\/p>\nIt matters not how strait the gate,
\nHow charged with punishments the scroll,
\nI am the master of my fate;
\nI am the captain of my soul.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n<\/blockquote>\nI found Invictus<\/u> by myself.\u00a0\u00a0 It more than ends well, it should be read slowly and strongly and\u00a0 in my mind, it always ends with a fist in the sky; screamed at the top of the lungs in as much defiance as one can muster.<\/p>\n
I don’t stare at these poems, nor do i have them hanging anywhere.\u00a0 I also do not have them memorized, and yet, now you know something more about me; and i share them with you.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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