Fortuitous words of solemn joy
through my eyes must abscond delightful thoughts
embed rough patches of solace within me
one could turn and blend desire inside.
Nostalgic turn, and I am down
and I ascend to find my function,
grasping an idea that leaves me tired
one could turn and escape the dire site.
With sparks that distract who I am
searching for my beginning slate
with anguish and turmoil and I can’t give in
one could turn and self-serve and leave their side.
Expectation of a soul dipped in tranquil
and enriched with potent motivation,
carving a deserved fate with bare love
one could turn and stop and seal the failure.