To go or not to go- that is the question:

Whether it is the early morning rise

That keeps the head in a groggy state

Or the thrill of the heart pounding

And, by opposing, wakes us. To wake, to go-

Again- and start another day, we begin

The mundane routine and the natural habits

That flesh is heir to- it is an unbroken cycle

Yearning to be done. To wake, to go-

To go, perchance to thrive. Yes, there is a chance,

For in that life of babble there is rebirth,

When we have arisen to this natural work,

Must give us hope. There's the miraculous

That makes benevolence of life.

For who would suffer the tears and stings of trial,

The challenger's words, the jealous man's accusation,

The thorns of untimely events, the heart's delay,

The incredulity of superiors, and the venom

That the inexplicably loathed injects,

When himself might life make better

With a forgiving notion? Who would grievance bear,

To mumble and sigh under a taxing life,

But that the dream of something after adversity,

The astonishing realities whose eyes

No image abandons, entices the heart

And makes us rather serve those ills we know

Than flee from others that are wicked in heart?

Thus conscience does make heroes of us all,

And thus the innate thought of selflessness

Is strong over with the courageous actions

And instills great camaraderie and cimpassion

With this regard their souls turn virtuous

And transcend the name of honor.