Truth Unmoved

How much dirt must I eat,
Before I accept my defeat?

You’d think I’m fond of the beating,
Without a win, without retreating.

A grinder of body and mind.
And through it all what do I find?

I find a way to make it through.
A simple thing that I must do.

A difficulty that I must manage,
Before succumbing to the damage.

And yet that thing I cannot do.
Alas, my will is not true.

Can I create determination,
Doggedness and motivation?

Are these things that I can make?
Or would they fail for being fake?

The riddle is quite enthralling.
I ponder it as I’m falling.

Perhaps there is no solution,
To my self-made persecution.

The objects that are bursting fore,
Are in fact subjects, nothing more.

That which I call reality,
Is a story of mortality.

My limits and also my end.
How will it twist, how far to bend?

Before it breaks, before it’s lost,
Before I can compute the cost.

And thereby I lost my point.
Connections melt, ideas disjoint.

Thoughts have drifted way past yond.
As ripples from a splash in pond.

Like the ripples, they too shall smooth.
With tale intact, and truth unmoved.