My will is greater than
The prickles and blisters on the soles of my feet
These prickles and blisters
Endured from the path draped with roses
The thorns of which slyly protrudes to feed on the soles of my feet

Tip toeing
Even so it’s shrilling barbs pierced through my bare flesh
Plantars on the soles of my feet bursting
Beneath an alluring bed of a finely trimmed runic bushes
The path diverts towards the smooth flooring of blazing lava I have yet to cross
Maybe this time, instead of tip toeing
I should take strides by the corners of my heels
Though my heart is racing -  almost crippled with fear
My pain, towards the end, is silenced with the anaesthesis of determination
From a distance – the on looker you are
You think of  me stupid
Maybe naïve
Weak even
Yet the pride within me
The love of my soul
The respect of my heart
Pushes my limbs to move across the spikes and fires
And when I sit
To take a breath
I unpluck the thorns, and peel the blisters
One by one
And a sense of pride blushes over my cheeks