One could say that I was raised like an instrument.
Molded.
Welded.
Sharpened and strengthened.
Designed for pursuit.
For purpose.

Granted, I excelled in all things
Required of Destiny.
Paled in the simpler things.
In the things that would pass for ordinary.
For obvious.

If I had more time.
My time was always of the essence.
It seemed I was born
Without enough of it.
So my pursuit
Required all of it.

In the eyes of most I had failed to learn a vital skill.
To live a little.

In my eyes, their concerns were roadblocks. 

I was not foreign to the concept.
All machines needed to unwind.
So they wouldn't break.
Before their quest did.
Any more than that was selfish.

But instruments must shed off all such things.
No, all such things must be purged.

When you live near fire
You forget that it burns.
But it can still hurt you.

Instruments are different.
Fire evolves them.
Strengthens their resolve.

But fire eats away at the life of a man. Robs them of their form.
Renders them but ash.
It burns from dawn
Till dust is dust again.

But fire, cold as he is, is my friend. And like fire, I must accept my fate. And burn my way through Destiny's gates,
And burn my way through Destiny's gaze.