Every now and then, I hear a crackle,
And the primordial parasitic pulse sidles in;
A field of possibilities, no wall, no shackle,
What's without, wild, wide, subsumes what's within.
Delicately held in the fidgety fingers of fate,
A sloppy slip and shock jags the slight shell;
A nascent desire to do something great,
Breathes, but has nothing to show or tell.
Energy and ennui, much like any element,
Wash over, raging, repetitive, relentless;
I try to look at it as a thoughtful present,
But, how do I seek the unknown success?
On the island isolated by an illusion,
Serene and sensible does all life seem;
The cause of every crocking confusion,
Is but the dearth of a devouring dream.
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