"Invictus" by William Earnest Henley has always been something of a mantra of mine, the poetic equivalent of a spirit animal, if you will. In fact, "Invictus" was what I named the bike I rode to Anchorage as part of Texas 4,000. Read it again, with Boston in mind:
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeoning of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.
For Boston, I will.
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