This is life, our frequent toil.
Untended fruits do tend to spoil.
It’s rare to see a blooming garden.
Rare to see a good man pardoned.
But beyond my scope,
My line of vision
I wish to mend all man’s derision.
For who can comb a writhing sea?
A hopeless love or deity.
For what’s in knots may be secure.
A quiet lass may seem demure.
But our eyes deceive if not well guided.
A world closed off if we’ve decided.
To live a life with feet well planted.
Limiting its scope and its expansion.
I’d I try to live like leaves exploring.
Overgrowth looks so alluring.
So climb and choke all things that hinder.
Be the match and be the tinder.
All things are done through one’s own action.
So know your heart and find your traction.
Don’t die alive amongst distraction.
-s.z (Ascend)