Pulsing quiet of self inspection. Admitted confusion, surrounded by illusion waiting for the quiet voice to somehow make it right. Ignorance my laughing friend why pretense my remorse, having soundly beaten the gong of infallibility and purpose. What then shall evening or morning transcend in transforming the topography of heart and mind? What willing posture shall be presented ably depicting the miraculous volumes removed from the trenchant? Where is fate laying wait to typify the tragedy and reduce miracles to despair? What wisdom lay in folly and joy overcome by the lack of worry, purchased and an undying will to be heard and understood? Why is breath so easy to grasp never leaving my hopeful heart in moments of panic’s passing?

What has become of the loving hope we shared between us? Some disquiet spooked or sponsored in the approaching dark. Some lecherous speaker counting whispers in secure places hoping the dissolve bonds, dislodge certainly and abandon the hope held in tandem? What ill may poison the holy moments of growth and august rising or waken the slumber of those held in perfect peace? The dream is the understanding a wall of shadows and happy faces laughing mercilessly against the promises of arduous pitch. We are not sullied and sour in the cave of allegory, but alive to face the cold or warmth as fitting our vows and proposals. Come morning we will see the aperture widen and perspective’s freedom allowing a full length to inhalation. Come dawn we will breathe anew knowing the purest gold of our reflection.

In Furtherance of fantasy I duly romanticize of being absolutely free to do whatever it is I was meant to become and be having been given it all originally. But circumstance and bravery are no parlor mates to destiny rather lenses and characteristic modifiers through which life’s efficacy is measured. In challenge hope either arises or dissolves dependent upon it origin. What bias breeds indifference producing non polar inclination but paralysis and a gravity toward indecision and aspiration. I would have chosen something having known that nothing more mattered in a quest to avoid the hovering hive of middleness. They do not brandish thought as weapon though it ought be, having recounted the world’s demise a million and three times always coming to the same alarming awareness. That thoughts are to thinking as the smell of wine to drinking the outcomes never that pleasant and more easily regretted than forgotten.

This is the day of my reasoning. The consequence of one man’s pondering left to believe in any thought worth pursuing. The conclusive effort of my salient few moments left alone to proselytize and pontificate as to how I believe the universe is suspended. What thread binds man to a quest for self importance or validation before the masses when they are fickle, indifferent and often blithely cruel? There is hope that may not be shared with unbeliever for nothing may be depended upon for one certain reason, it will never come to the aid of ardent or passive traveler. Being alone is not grand reward but loss. For if perspective skewed what mirror then relieves me from my own prison or poisonous view? Life is interaction. With Oxygen and mass, acceleration and pain but most for the pleasure and rare moments spent with those who honor, chastise, prod and make merry. For they are gift well given.