blocked.

We small children in this world,
How we yearn to reach across the face of the earth
To trample through the wild expanses
To possess that which cannot be possessed
How we seek any ideal!

For this passion is in no way denied
But rather sprung forth from the fountains
Of eternal youth
It's existence is ours
There for those who seek
That which is to be found

But how the pain of truth
Transposes itself toward the back
Of one's fragile nape
Becomes whole in it's utter atrocity

In no way can this be
Altered
Oh red expanse,
We seek to find the truth
Reach not the error of our ways
In its stead we reach
That which is untrue and unmade
Wholly that of
A burst of sun
Spark'd through that dense field
of green.

No longer can we see
That which remained unseen.

---

Why must I not simply do
That which I desire?

Why must my ever-present state
Be consumed with thoughts
Of that which I must do
rather than what I burn to do?

Oh obligation
How you unnerve
me

and my joie de vivre.

Or am I simply
a failure
Who cannot seem to reach
That high-up pinnacle
of completion?

Led on by bursts of
life and destruction?

oh but what a fickle being I am.