Am No Saint

I walk the street, my head held high,

However shadows grip to steps I attempt.

I wear no crown of most perfect gold,

Nor stories of ethicalness to be told.

In murmurs, decisions frequently cast,

For I'm molded by grieved past.

A miscreant's shroud upon me wraps,

With blemishes that none could very escape.

I've moved in haziness, felt its virus,

Embraced wants, both wild and intense.

I've committed errors, regardless I fall,

Be that as it may, who among us has no nerve?

I'm no holy person, this much is valid,

Be that as it may, consistently, I rise again.

To repair the breaks inside my spirit,

Also, battle to restore this heart more.

The world is horrible, its preliminaries steep,

However in my chest, a fire I keep.

A consuming expectation, an obstinate fire,

That in some way, I can change the game.

I've known the profundities, the flavor of torment,

I've strolled through misfortune, felt unending precipitation.

However even in the tempest, I stand,

With dreams actually supported in my grasp.

Flawlessness' not my way to step,

For life's too wild, its strings excessively spread.

In any case, generosity, love, I'll endeavor to give,

What's more, become familiar with every day, exactly how to live.

So judge me not for what I've done,

Be that as it may, for the fights I have won.

For I, similar to you, am defective and twisted,

However ahead, through the tempest, I'm sent.

Am no holy person, however here I stand,

With solidarity to rise and heart close by.

The excursion's long, the end obscure,

Yet at the same time I guarantee this way my own.