I have a yearning, a burning for finding my place.
I'm twisting and turning and looping and learning,
that earning this life is not a race.
That's not the case, to leave my trace,
to start from base, become encased
And interlace at the pinacle.
Grow cynical, it's trivial and crimminal
typical that I'd need a miracle,
not etheral, just a visual stimulant.
Emotional and imminent,
A dissonance of relevance,
A trumpet call like filiment,
Militant but reverant.
Not defense but balance and checks,
a complex built on respect,
an Eye open, concave built on convex.
Centered around a truth that connects,
A truth that see's Next without the blinders of hoping,
without telescoping to selfish and loathing,
And moping and groping and searching and curbing
the burning and yearning to find my place.