Man exists outside of time or space, why should time dictate seas of temperament?

A grateful, fulfilled, and at peace mind begins to show symptoms of a forgetful sentiment.

I should not know what day was before me if the world was not obsessed with thee.

The only conditions that influences thou’s outlook is if thou doesn’t continue to breathe.

No woman fears labor if she feels It aligns with her birth.

Of course, I understand how dreadful a Monday can be if freedom was signed away to be cloaked on earth.

Presenting to a room of hundreds has ceased to be a challenge, writing has become severely easy.

I’ve submitted to my generosity, I’m closer to giving all away than the ability to be greedy.

Spiritual discipline would be an underwhelming description, I’ve incinerated my former self.

Minimalist is an identity I can claim, a high earner inhabiting a dorm with shelves.

My daily duties for my career are child’s play, thus there is only one challenge in my life I can find.

Oh does this fill me with unbearable joy, for It is the outlier on the list, a simple matter of time.

Thus, my script is not egotistical, such is not my kind.

I am simply observing that all in my life but one thing, has risen to accompany my level of rhyme.

So, Give It time.

Obsession with an idea brings focus to an internal struggle, surroundings fade away.

I do not fear failure, I fear my inevitable success leading to the remembering of the world that day.

My isolation has been a myriad of peace, to be alone is to reduce probability of accelerated entropy.

As he begun to go deaf, Mozart wrote his best symphony.

Silence of external noise allows us to hear the beautiful songs that are being whispered within us.

Hand rails they told us would hold us up are covered in tears and so while grasping for stability we are cut by thin rust.

The only math they know is plus, thus, in such social constructs, win you must.

Cars, homes, clothing, one's true self is usually buried under such stuff.

Life is chess not checkers, Ironically an internal check leads one to stop mating.

It's all so cheesy, trying to fill superficial holes is just soul grating.

In yonder realm where clamor blends with deep reflection true,
God's hand hath fashioned balance rare, amid tasks and pains that brew.
When man, unshackled, roams the fields of thought neglected erst,
'Tis eerie to perceive his freedom from desires accursed.

To lack desire akin to holding all within one's hand,
Yet fleeting is the novelty in this wondrous land.
A war doth rage betwixt my mind and bloodline's primal urge,
As I strive to fuse my wit with nature's ancient surge.

The cravings of this mortal frame, I find them naught but vain,
The primal thirst for mating and for accolades to gain.
In modern days, productivity doth reign supreme,
Yet I yearn for a detachment from society's harsh gleam.

Psychic and spiritual realms, they oft diverge from need,
Evolution's designs, they clash with intellect's creed.
Once vital for survival's sake, these instincts now seem drear,
To thinkers of a higher plane, their essence fails to cheer

Neither a borrower nor a lender be.

Credit used for credit abused ends in the likes of how credit sued Suisse.

What does it mean to truly be free? How much time does it take to explore one's soul?

What does ownership truly mean? Can it be such if the deed to time, shelter, and transport, one does not hold?

If one must answer to another, then that makes the entire life a question.

The overwhelming irony of such a man spending the whole portion of his earnings on a section.

Deposits are becoming fluid, leaping both ways. As soon as they're cleared they come out.

How could it be a skilled baker struggles to get a crumb out?

Two hundred and fifty days are being traded in games of limbo where you're beaten down to get to the bar.

Convinced am I should we journey away from the banks, we'll go far.

For credit is the base molecule you discover in a capitalist's lungs.

These letters I can not sign nor follow for I have always been the capital one.