With needing ink, with weeping ink, ever encompassing, ever enchanting. I was lost in a time warp. It never seems polite. Too many decisions to make: either subsumed or strategic. One will travel where you’ve been; one will feel estranged, convoluted, unenthused. Life will take on a texture: it could go sour. So much limited time. Once upon creation, neat joys, uniformed happiness, a pleasure to life. We learned disquietude; private internality, discomfort and winds; so much tends to weigh in the balance, attempting to decode behavior, knowing in part, souls are disenchanted. Indeed. How to gauge accountability? Longer roads. Pavement stepping. That trail I took. I warn the unsuspecting soul—a deal of bad nerves. Colder moments, nonetheless. To glance into a person, to catch a glimpse. If to see in parts, forming a puzzle, missing key pieces. The fire you bring, dungeon equipped, managing a genuine smile; flame of its flicker, courage to adore, never ending endeavors. I was lost in a fantasy, aging with lights, eager to make life of a situation. I see by moon-arts, feeling earthquakes, a sickle to interior, solace still arriving. And loving is steep, trying to become all one desires, the insecurity of the fact. Many say—we worry too much, go with the flow, well—the flow is constructed, it doesn’t just make for perfection.
