Match with Kathy, Perspective Part IV, the Wrath of Sharron Miles

You got to be kidding me?

How can you be satisfied in any way with such utter disgrace?

Losing the first strike is terrible enough, but now hanging on to a thin thread of hope with such tenacity.

Unsightful,

Unsightful,

UNSIGHTFUL

Is barely surviving the match the best you can do? Is dodging without any attempts to pare or counter befitting a youngster from House Miles? Is accepting the punishment without even a clue for retaliation your idea of another step forward to catching up to your brother?

That cannot be--you cannot be happy because you have just won a bet with Morris that you did not fall flat on your face within the first three moves! Maybe that is a significant improvement from Advanced Hand-to-Hand Combat; however, standing in shambles thanks to all your wits, skills, reflexes, and mostly luck does not exactly fit anything that can be described as rejoice.

But she is not finished--I am still standing. To continue the match can only point out how inferior you are to her, a futile resistance to a hunting gambol.

Of course, you have the choice to forfeit the march. It will be  an estimable choice; at least, you spare yourself from any future embarrassment.

And what can you do? You have no schemes, no strategies, no experiences, and no procedures to occlude her advance.

Nothing, nothing at all. There is not even one single possible alternative you can suggest to reverse or alter your situation. Once she started full frontal assault, you would only have the strength to shield yourself, bowl your head under her feet, and crawl into a corner in fear.

Accept the inevitable defeat, Sharron Miles. There is nothing you can do. There were twenty-three moves you used to improve your stanza. You were hit directly twelve times, seven times on blocks. You were grazed by the halberd nine times, consciously aware of all nine of them. You are grounded four times, not yet locked for a loss. 

Not yet, as in a second ago, you are still flying. 

In the next second, you will hit the ground and realize that gravity only allows a limited time of airborne. 

"Ah, I am flying. Oh, never mind."

And you probably cannot escape grounding this time. 

Ah, crap. It hurts. Mind is going dark. Pain is not supposedly soporific, but my eyelids are so heavy.

Is that all? The extend of your talent, your ambition, and your perseverance only lasts you this far.

Well, at least take her down with you.

Be more than your craven self, and do not be afraid to show her the brutality of your wrath. 

Course Tracked

Aligning the sextant to some bright stars,

Midnight looked never so impressive yet far.

I let one sight down the telescope, 

opening vast ocean deluded with hope.

Over the calm surfaces of waves,

wreckage lays.

The lapidary expert builds graves 

to a head of clay.

Was that expected? Yes, it is. 

But no? All are not inside the expectation. 

Sorry, which I cannot yet understand.

And so, I should know with no doubts in heart. 


Let's try an analogy, 

The alumina itself is worthless, 

but doped with chromium,

and selectively cut,

it will shine with much brilliance.

Note, it is starting with alumina.

The artisan has replete methods,

but the transformation tries one by one,

finding land in the midst of sea?

Just that, if I say "Aye Aye."

Expectation is certainly wider than the span of this ocean,

but there is only one ship, one captain, and one sailor.

I will not yield to the incoming storm, 

"Through it, I say," mind obdurate.

If tides shall nest my home, let it settle.

Choice is one, the one that is made. 

Tightening the mast, 

and waiting for the silver to again spread across the sea.