nomad

even amidst the monotonous strife, ill just wait over something new. and upon the humming and the bustling and the restless toll, everyday a new a sunrise prepares himself. but how for can i wait for anew if the morning calls awake and ready. so i place myself in the same rut, in the automated routes, constancy of voices, the requests of many and the drive of the few.
unending multitudes running the same paths, though never home and never satisfied.

the hindered resolve

it comes to me so naturally that i rarely place that much momentum in it. it is a place of familiarity and of strange reassurance. the fact that i do not see other options to what must be the correct outcome is the steady promise of its deliverance. in the biblical sense i might just add.
nonetheless, it does not mean there is no sacrifice in it or that it is not limited to its own form. it simply is and exists and is an extension of me. in all of my ages, in all of my decisions, in all of my speeches as a small reminder of that bent fork that you insist on using for every meal or that incomplete poem that we still keep that draft around, waiting for the day to be finished.
but unlike its strangely flawed nature it is resolute in it self, it revolves in its own existence and outshines everything else as the only possible solution.
forcing its way into my thoughts and actions, my old friend, necessity, once again nurtures so well the process of creation.