Waterloo

With every extra inch into darker depths Wherein lean lot's venomous fang bites, I brave worse pains and stings that rise Past all steel into hitherto unfelt heights. Every fresh day calls exacerbated fears That trim stouter hope and fuller cheers, Dealing fatal blows to potent prospects; Fogging mirrors whereon all life reflects. Even while I deem the battle finally won, Still I meet emboldened missiles hurled Onto the assumed triumphant champ; Stilling his flying flag and grinning gun. All past winnings turn to neutered starts, In this ceaseless racing to a shifting line; No first milestones earned via iron guts, Ever long stand as an encouraging sign. End-lines alter and time hops backward, As I duel against Fate's nine-lifed sword.