Henley's Fallacious Truth

Fell clutching,
like Circumstance,
rising to confront us,
taking that subsuming stance,
made of up-boiling bubbles,
from the bottom of that sea,
that seething sea of need,
that tries supplanting me,
by planting seeds,
of Resignation,
in salt-soaked shores,
on the edge of our minds,
and in wounds that we bore,
solidarity,
found in the salinity,
and sterility,
of a soul invictus,
and their incapability,
to maintain holistically,
parasitic Doubt,
Doubt of the "Self" variety,
the ability to maintain propriety,
in the face,
of fear,
in this place,
of wrath and tears,
despite the fury found,
in that Strait Gate,
because though I'm loud,
I cannot say,
that I am,
the master of my fate,
yet.