Victory tainted is shallow.
If to win you stand hollow, 
beneath there’s a shadow,
no roots to feed yourself.

You’re sad grasping tight
to the illusion of success. 

If bright lights don’t show 
the limits of your window,
you’ve been underground
too long, sunken in a blinded 
dance that evokes a light
that never comes, fallen 
hard into a narcist falsity.   

Each time, there’s a sense
that this one is the fruitful
might, vanity gets the best
of each chance to beat, not
the other but yourself. What
brings satisfaction to victory
is integrity. The most honest
race is not against someone
else but it is yourself against 
your transient, futile desires. 

To soar beyond the confines
of your shadow, love yourself
as if you were the atmosphere.
Once you become it, propel
toward your stratosphere.

Purify desire until it is hope. 
Signature Lina Ru