I wrote a letter I’d never send. It was filled with what one gives: emotion, scars, freedom & feelings.
I have perspective, as I assume persistence.
If to find a balance; if to un-dream by visions.
It was wrong to silence those comforts;
It was right to endure those thunderbolts.
Indeed. Life gets personal.
In all the getting, get rationality.
Whatever it is, it’s a thinking agent.
I would say I never asked to be saved,
I’d be lying.
Over yonder, watching, it gives sustenance, an addition to purpose, far more intoxicating at moments.
To dream in color;
to waltz & shoot arrows.
A prime archer; no need in celebration.
It isn’t for that reason.
