Cloaked beneath every great person are robust friendships, until you’re rich the world ignores you.

When you’re being suffocated by doubt’s grip, they restore you.

It’s as if they had a lifeboat off of the Titanic, forgot you on board, and came back.

To my best friends, here your roses come, Jack.

The ones who sat in horse and carriage deserve to fly next to thee.

The hard part is over now, and I owe the will to keep going to the best of me.  

So if not for you, for your friends, the ones who only ask for an inch when you have a mile.

Nobody deserves to share your dream with you more than someone who just wanted to see you smile.

I will drag my ink across the scroll, hoping to describe how I feel.

Proximity to a dream realized may be better than the day the dream is real.

We often feel more deeply in imagination, disengaging this sense for what we can grasp.

but which is better, stretched out anticipation of a comedy show or the actual laugh?

It could be my observation is incorrect, just my fear of waking up once the dream is over.

It has been a joy to ****** into the unknown, less so as the known moves closer.

The person who’s coming always seems more exuberant than the one who came.

Could It be the best scenario always exists in the brain?

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