“Another defeat makes the soul weary,

    As if the Earth had swallowed me whole.

But even as this work becomes dreary,

    My heart and soul yell out, “At no time fold.”


As the Visigoths sacked the Rome of old,

    so does the treasure of my heart seem worn.

With no fruitful sights seen, with no labors sold,

    I wait in worry, to no longer hear scorn.


Rome certainly was not built in a week,

    Just as my thirst for success can’t be satisfied.

It can’t be quenched by those who harshly speak

    The words that shut the door during mid-stride.


I dream my dreams of the highest caliber. 

Just as Rome glimmers in alabaster."

Guide that inspired this poem: 


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