The places I’ve come to fear the most,

Where purpose and futility meet,

My heart exhausted these places encountered,

My soul too weary finds defeat.


And succumb I must to the beauty of a flower,

Grown wild in a meadow so deep,

For what is “beauty” that extends not my days,

But draws me back into a moment I’m forbidden to keep?


Oh what a shame that my life’s great obsession,

Satisfies not physical hunger but that of adventure.

My thirst never quenched, and back never clothed,

Yet my spirit finds warmth in this indenture.


In this joy I’ll find my water.

In this serenity I’ll find my bread.

And to this idle, aimless siren,

My weary soul to be ever wed.

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