His sympathy was as wasted away as his ambition,

He seemed to have no mission.

He had words he wanted to say; but gave them no voice,

He made this his own personal choice.

He felt he had the liberty to take a life that did not belong to him,

. . . The light of his world began to dim. . .

He could ruin the life of another with force,

Felt hate, but no remorse.
But the journey of life led him elsewhere.

A place where emotions meant power — not shame.

A place where he learned to control his temper,

And his character was not determined by his name.

He learned to respect, not to intimidate.

He learned it just wasnt the answer.

His tears did not mean that he failed.

He learned how to defeat this moral cancer.

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