"
What befalls this man
That which causes, much confusion
Is undecided.
What he really desires, that which is, not strongly burning?
Is it
The white, pure frost flakes of the winter
The cheery blossoms of the summer
Or indeed, a farfetched and uncertain reality?
A choice the man cannot feel
The true answer from the depths of his true feelings
Or is it
a choice at all? Perhaps it is, akin a flower to bud
a realisation yet to dawn?
How often has he lost himself and allowed subconcious to take over
Yet sleep cometh and he dreams many dreams
None of which a materialisation
But he will not / can not move forward without a clear
Guidance.
A goal.
The road that stretches out
filled with fantasies; turns; and many paths
His heart is not yet his vision
Like a blind man
Stumbles.
"
