Blind figures, statue representative of
a forwarding thought. Ahead of myself,—
decisions, decisions, decisions, decisions.
Too many of which, walk along the path of life.

To see as much, is seeing through the dark for
a hint of light. A sense of life; in dead still waters;
running deep of a depthful mind.

It's pen *******; is of words cutting deep,
a favourable piece, seemingly rightmove as I write.  

A sight for words, breathless at times.
Annoyingly simple, but overly complicated to piece
together the masterpiece of imagination.

So as I looked up to a night sky, it filled
my head's constellations of lining routes to thoughts.
In the end—a head full of trillions of stars.

           My ideas could be bright.