with the opportunity to fly,
heaven-bound with relentless cadence,
over unbound oceans of endless thought,
i still prefer to glance ashore from a shore,
Standing still with normative idealism,
bound to false securities of pragmatism,
and perpetually doomed to drown,
if ever setting foot in water.

Alacrity bespeaks entangled, entombed,
     and entrapped Thai soccer team
diminishing strength barely allows,
     but a whispered scream,

which rescue against all odds
     (plucked out cavernous catacomb),
     fast becoming a fading dream
vicariously agonizing to see

desperation and lads bravely brace,
     helplessness predominating over initial
     found alive break thru gain
     promising grim destiny slowly doth erase

yet resignation impossible
     to ignore written on every face
despite faux (cracking)
     courageous front,

     now severely testing grace
under underground solid state
     rock geomorphology
     necessitating stepped up pace

to rescue, sans race
against time encroaching threatened space
with predicted mon
     soon meteorologists trace

with laser pointer predict
     ominous incursion cave
at mercy of vulnerable flooding
     worst case scenario, grave

nightmare predicament
     in an attempt to save
youths with barely enough
     strength to smile or wave

downgrading my own fear
being emotionally incommunicado
     during prepubescence
     pretending not to hear

clapping skeletal hands over each ear
to blot out hyper consciousness of glare
ring existence squelching
     feeble effing dare

     sputtering Nietzscheism at every turn
of the (ripped torn) page
airtight barricade against transformation
     into manhood stage

fighting to the death
     foaming at mouth dagger like
     canine teeth savagely
     evincing snarling rage,

no match for reinforced
     rebar invisible cage
holding self hostage,
     not enough money

     to pay hefty ransom,
     thus thine mental health
     compromised, which
     to this day still pay steep wage.

within lifetimes from now
what will we be

what achievements might
twist us into something
beyond imagining, but
what if it's worse than
we could think

the future is
a foreign place
with untrod ground
and dark woods
and dark seas
boiling with possibility
for great and
terrible things

where will our feet lead
what paths will we
go down
descending into
a world which won't
recognize us for
what we once were

what happens when
we lose ourselves
to eternity
and the many millions
of possibilities
that might possibly
turns us into
nightmares
built on
foundations of
well-intended dreams
do

what if the stars revile us
and god turns his back on us
and we come to the point
where we deem ourselves
unworthy to continue existing

what if we shouldn't be

what are we

and what will become of us?

a half line
incomplete stanza
an unrhymed sentence
well defined trauma

the poet's thought
uncaptured on the paper
many drafts
and crushed papers
around the study

there is a lot
same thoughts
and some sought
no process
little sense
world of words
and many buds

more time needed
to bloom
and here comes
the start of coming doom.