To overcome this still inertia--impassioned as I am with
my wise reservation--is a cumbersome thing wrapped in a naked singularity that does tuggeth me between sluggish grief and brief elation. Betwixt the shore of imagination and the nexus that is the horizon, I revel in a non-spatial continuum of sanity, watching the celestial spheres in constantly changing velocity above me circle around a periphery, each like a space born diadem.


Released from reality, I see Thee with an adventure in hand,
(though it currently only resides in my minds travels.)
He is the King of Kings in His secret land, and it there that
is where the living conundrum unravels. I lose all of my attachments until I am free to be married to my destiny, which haunts my dreams and drinks up my being like a weeping willow tree: but at last I have surrendered to the
perfect Grace that has annihilated me.

Now there is only the diversity in the unity that has
awakened my natural love, empowering me to attempt the
ascent from this mortal levee, and kiss the endless sky above.