From
porticoes to parabolas
The
distance-journeyed trails
A
hewing sea of salted drives,
…The
days of the shape-shift
Reaches
portmanteau when
The
facets of adventure’s experience
Culminates
like a cross,
Splitting
half-life
To
half-death—
Leaving a collated mixture-stirred
Spreadable and clean
From
balconies to arcing plots
There
comes a molecule in time
Where
the terminus has collected
All
it can.
“Is that all?” said the observer standing by, “that
can’t be all, can it now?”
To
which the dreamer swiftly passed response, “ If one reaches terminus, then the journey has either ended or
permanently stalled.”
{Sigh}
does the stander-by, “But…”
Smiling
slightly, the dreamer…”But…but of course, if the terminus has been achieved,
the terminus has been achieved…but, if you are not satisfied with the journey’s
conclusion, or feel like you’d desire some more, you…yes, you, any of you, can
simply stand amidst your terminus…and challenge all of your calculations…by
simply altering the schematics of that moment…and in its stead, build yourself
a terminal...as so the journey shall never end.”
