DEAR PENPAL PEOPLE, draftz:;;;;;;;;;

I aspire for the horizon of hope
for hope itself
for it
I hope for the best
still the best itself
I am not aspiring for
I shall wish for it
aspire for it
yet shall I not live it
shall I see it from afar
yet never the to-be engrossed
in the mist of it
in the midst of it all
because
the moment of the fall
of the horizon into a sky of whole
the full picture of the reached hope
of the so-called they call
(let's say I call it a pit hole,
according to your missed time)
with that
I won't know how to breathe
in it within
in it anymore
it would be the crash of dreams
the mist of the fatal breeze
the one of free
the midst of flee
the place to be
but I know
that it is not
not even a to-be close
for this being for me,
for the shackles of the horizon
remains a reminisce of its remains
the talked about antiquity delivering past trace
a once past trail
that would hail
the almightiness of me
the above golden flee
of authenticity
upon the inauthentic gleam
so if the verge shall I see
shall it be
the ****
the death
the doom
of me
if it shall be the homogeneity
of some picked up pieces
from the heterogeneous scene
the one that created a place
a sphere
a haven
the raven's nest you see
then the question I attest
is the one lingering behind
for what I've wished
to abide
was for the best
so to the one who differentiates
a 'conscience's voice'
where does that turning point locate?
allocate me, d'accord?
from your grave
                                                           ­                                  ------ravenfeels