Ladders float, around me three boats, water blinks, if breath stalls your rise, it glitters, fame delivers nothing, an empty promise, I believe, water sinks me, No, it’s my breath, who is the judge? Myself, no, It’s them. Gatekeepers, I’m tired, hushed, cornered, dead ended. It’s the water, I believe, it pulls me down, no it’s me, I breathe without a fiery resolution to thrive, but I do. I struggle to redeem myself from the powerful above. There’s no use, can’t grasp hope, much less lift a ladder to the boat, tried once, below average, isn’t it subjective, intersubjective, perhaps there’s an objective to the fake promises, praise isn’t what you wish for, let the waters of time glut you up, not men. As for them, as thirsty as you are they are, unsufferable. Destroyed by a desire so vain, once there, the dire applause won’t cure. If you want to excel, measure yourself with yourself, time as your only witness. Ladders aren’t there for you, someone left it there before drowning. If you use it, will you honor the previous owner, will you dishonor what another life taught you to set you free from those blinking waters? Want something ahead? Do it for your own sake. Even once above, the boat might deny you space, don’t let their terms dictate who you are, where you go, how you perform. Excellence hides in overcoming, in a struggle, in an uncomfortable place. If you are afforded a space, you might lose what illuminates waters, the blinking might not be them, but you, always ahead, unaware that the reflection of the moon was not yourself, but you, Sun and yet dusk has just begun.