The Battle We Call Living
written by: John Neff
Each morning breaks with borrowed light,
A trembling flame against the night,
We rise again with battered hands,
To chase the dreams that life demands.
The world’s not fair, it never was,
It breaks the weak without a pause,
It builds its walls too steep, too wide,
Yet still we climb, though bruised inside.
We stumble, fall, and scrape our skin,
We doubt the strength we hold within,
Mistake by bitter, clumsy blow,
Yet still we rise, still onward go.
The road is cracked, the path is steep,
The promises we planned to keep
Lie crumpled where the cold winds sweep,
But dreams aren’t made for easy sleep.
Love it or hate it, this is ours,
The pain, the hope, the shattered towers,
The tender scars, the sudden flight,
The battles lost, the songs of night.
We were not born to glide through ease,
We were not made for soft, calm seas;
Our hearts are forged by storm and rain,
By every ounce of joy and pain.
Life isn’t fair — it never pleads,
It starves the ones with noblest needs,
It crowns the fools, forgets the wise,
Yet still we stand beneath its skies.
Mistake on mistake, regret on regret,
The things we forgive, the things we forget,
The lies we believed, the truths that we bled,
The dreams we betrayed, the tears that we shed.
Still—
Still we must live it, live it full,
Even when the nights grow cold and cruel,
Even when the past becomes a chain,
We must outwalk the ghost of pain.
Because to live is not to win,
It’s finding beauty deep within,
It’s fighting battles none can see,
It’s choosing hope when none agree.
We learn to smile with broken teeth,
To dance on swords beneath our feet,
To sip the rain, to curse, to pray,
And still to chase another day.
We break our hearts to feed the fire,
We stretch and fall and climb up higher,
We chase what flees, we dream what dies,
And dare to build from shattered skies.
For every grave we leave behind,
Another garden strains to find
Its voice beneath the weight of stone —
We’re not forgotten. We’re not alone.
The world won’t hand you what is owed,
You carve it out with blood and bone;
You write your name on winds that flee,
You sing your truth defiantly.
So love it, hate it — we are here,
To face the dark, to fight the fear,
To live with purpose through the pain,
To lose, to build, to lose again.
For life is not some flawless art;
It’s chaos tattooed on the heart,
It’s learning, burning, crashing, soaring —
It’s falling down and rising roaring.
So take this breath, this scar, this fall —
And give your fierce, imperfect all.
Mistakes be damned, regrets be torn —
We are not broken.
We are born.
- The Battle We Call Living - May 24, 2025
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