The Cast Iron Skies Only the strong survive, beneathThe cast iron skies, where dreamsAre made, and meet their demise.Sautéed and created, a delicateDish, or sizzled and fried, a burntOut wish. The prize to be won,With size untold, or the peril thatReaches from ages old. I mightOnly say again, only the strong surviveBeneath the cast iron skies. TheTails and woes of which the sacredOne cries, are all governed and reflectedIn the cast iron skies. A glance intoEbony, dissolves, becomes mystery, asOne cannot fathom the vastness ofThe skies. Both land and sea disappearIn mystery, blanketed in the darkness ofThe night sky, as the emptiness reflectedCannot be rejected nor discarded byThe naked human eye.The facility of the week is notOf which we speak, for it is of noBenefit for us to spy, but ponder we will on those things that fulfillThe requisite of strength beneath theSky, for in the great, the small, theMost, the least, the dichotomy evenIn man and beast, we spy one traitIn those victory draws nigh. Theirs is a Sort of duality that enacts, consciousCausality in the minds of the strongBeneath the sky. So, in summation itSeems, to win the race or even setThe pace, to overcome and surpassOnes demise, on must seize one’sFate, in the common trait, of theAdaptive duality, found in only theStrong, who survive the cast iron Skies.