Cycling around dimensions, three.
Horizons bend to curve all we see.
Energy’s absorbed when given free.
Settled comforts to some fond.
Or near to crest on rippling pond.
Projecting forward, life’s beyond.
OR’s’ of age when all is time,
passion drives a life sublime,
treading secure or await the chime.
Choose chosen when choices few.
Three’s what’s given, the rest up to you.
With a bow to fateful inspiration, I shall cast skyward, beyond the heavens and to the heart of a most divine princess. Though this arrow will not pierce nor blemish all that is pure. For it will levitate before her command, awaiting thoughtful reply. It is then thy arrow shall propel and traverse, returning to my waiting, wanting and out stretched hand. And with this most sacred and singular of tools I trust and follow; deserts and plains, rivers, forests, seas and frozen peaks where only the arrow dare soar, I do confidently tread. Upon the highest pinnacle I will see the light and be guided. Drawn by the heat of shared passions, we attract and we shall meld and mold, we will unite as one and become the bow, two parts equal. Tied with care and precision we are flexible and strong. The arrow does no wrong.
Procrastination: A story that’s never finished
Happiness: Seeking perfection and excepting half
Writing: Search for good words unused
Computers: Infinite possible distractions distracting infinitely
Passion: Life, self and love consumed