Invictus

William Ernest Henley. 1849–1903

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 bludgeonings 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.

I memorized this poem for my public speaking class back in high school. Now that I think of it, this is the only poem that I know by heart (maybe not entirely but when prompted, I still can remember it).

I have read various interpretation of this poem but what really hit home to me is the last two lines.

I sometimes feel that I'm losing and I have slowly slipped away from my old driven self. But did I really lose it? Reading it again and focusing mainly on those two striking lines, I think that I have deliberately created a reason all these recent years and made myself believe to let things take its course.

I have forgotten one important thing: I used to make things happen.