This search is never ending,
A yearning for purpose,
With no assurance for the premise of a future with potential,
No promise of a possible solution for seclusion.
It’s a thirst of sorts,
The type of hunger that contorts,
That forces you to abort more than you ought to believe you can absorb.
It’s often adored,
Brought aboard when other desires are doomed to be ignored,
I implore that this comes at me like a horde,
As if I can take flight and let the yearning inside me just soar.
No more shall I wait for such fantasies to be torn,
I won’t mourn as I find my mental fortitude to be scorned.
No more shall I wait and wallow as I swallow the seeds of thought found in things I ought to respect as not only just bought,
But sought out and caught from things I suspect to have been taught.
It’s not that I feel lost,
It’s not that I feel at a loss,
Or trapped in a glossed over rudimentary series of misplaced implications,
Only proposed to sit in sanctions.
I feel a ferocious foundation of feasible fallacies,
Informalities set to distract my mind from greater intricacies.
Simple thought patterns and weaknesses wrapped around unobtainable peacefulness,
I yearn for a greatness that can take the place of my wastefulness,
But I fear that I will convolute the convection that I truly try to concentrate upon,
Torment my connections and collect the correlation between what I want and what I can actually graze upon,
I just yearn for something real,
Something I don’t feel as though I have to steal but can truly forge in myself like a beam forged from steel.
I just yearn for clarity,
A self set charity for internal prosperity,
Or maybe just a simple nights rest,
A night with a dream that I know won’t eternally be better than the rest.
That would effectively be what is best.
S.F. – 02/16/2020 – 7:00 A.M.