The apparitions of perfection wrap their tendrils around the calmness of this pursuit, regaling it in splendor.
That which is sought, is merely an illusion of purpose, drawing thou closer to the cold granite walls of mediocrity.
Stretch for thine dreams, look knowingly past the dim light filtering through existence as thou make their way into the day.
Yearn for these small pinnacles to climb, make plain these ravages of need by searching beyond where they lay confined.
Dost thou need rhetoric or sweetly coated verses to make obvious the proclamations of joy surrounding the moment?
Thine will, great and aspiring, may be obliged to conceive notions that play devils advocate to those things sought.
Scale these ramparts of thine beliefs, ascending to the more distant planes obscured by thoughts of false tranquilities.
Smile knowing that thou have wandered through mankind leaving joy and fulfillment in thine wake.