The real, unreal and surreal amalgamate as a tapestry
billowing in the winds of another half-desired destiny.

What was once an easy operation,
from here to somewhere unrelated but accessible,
becomes an altogether insurmountable obstacle
when faced with the torrents of Fate's indifferent condensation.

Are we not meant to know
the deepest undercurrent flow
of cosmic affairs, but rather stare
onward, unblinking until somewhere
a voice (or something similar) proclaims
revelation with enough conviction
to rouse our stagnant minds to contemplation?

Must now be that time of revelation?