The odds

The Odds.
They’re always against you.
And when they aren’t, you better act like they are.
Stand your ground. 
Steer the course. 
Eye on the prize. 

There’s nothing
More agonising & sustained, 
Than the long, 
Slow toll 
& ruthless decay 
Of regret 
And remorse.
The gentle, silent erosion of you,
Behind sweet veils of contentment,
Is enough to wear even the strongest
Down into most silent,
Catastrophic suffering,
Deep inside the abyss of their
Most silent
Moments. 

But the Odds, 
The Odds are always there to remind you. 

The Odds are always there to remind you
That glory is not at your fingertips,
But on the other side of the eternal
Mud crawl.

Once you've smashed the false window
From which you see yourself
Awe will be inspired,
Tears will be shed,
But the Odds will remain
Like a bully beating you over your soul.
The sting of the struggle will be bearable
But the rage of regret is everlasting. 

The odds are always there to remind you that
The other side holds
Rewards and riches far beyond 
Any material thing your narrow material mind
Can comprehend. 

The Odds are always there to remind you that 
You're not subject to one
Race, sex, colour or creed.
That you'll prevail
In spite of those things.

The Odds are always there to remind you
Of what it really means, 
What it really feels like,
What it really means

To be alive. 

The Odds. 
They’ll love to remind you of them. 
They’ll revel in the maths,
These masters of sugar and sand. 

Your job is to laugh,
Loud like a lion,
At the thought of someone bringing up something 
So irrelevant and insignificant 
As The Odds.