A primrose sun hides the greedy streets,
An ugly path trod by many feet,
Where bootless prayers seek the days gone by,
Too young to live, too old to die.

A savage wind cuts the ocean deep,
Appears to make white horses weep,
And ships are but cradles in the sea,
Whipped back and forth but never free.

Trees too old to count the humble day,
Mock what is left of a golden age,
Their leaves so still as though unborn,
But old enough to look unworn.

A light so distant it feels wrong
Shines in the night a brilliant song,
Attracting warmth where there seems none,
Making many to become one.

Where do we, the forgotten go?
Rocked like ships, to and fro?
Perhaps like leaves upon the ground,
Just waiting to become unfound.

What is our quest? What is our state?
I will never make yours my fate,
If it be true that I am forgot,
Then I refuse to lie in rot.

I will fight, I tell you my dear friend,
Till either mine or my deamon's end,
And if my journey is not what you can make,
Trust in me it's what I must take.

A primrose sun hides the greedy streets,
An ugly path trod by many feet,
Where bootless prayers seek the days gone by,
Too young to live, too old to die.

Mathew Lewis

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/fighting-mere-existence/