Resting by the rock with a dark green moss,
Staring into darkness where the sunset sleeps.
Far away beyond the gates,
Into the forests and beyond my gaze,
Opportunities arise to which the freedom I thank,
An endless variety of options to rank.
A restless paralysis where my mind scatters,
Unable to focus on what really matters.
A hard days work once done with pride,
A restful period confused, without guide.
Condemnation to choose and a mind confused,
The freedom to do whatever I seek,
But the paths unclear,
The choices meek.
Staring into the darkness abound,
The dark green moss like a mind run amok.
Tendrils of growth, slithering into holes,
No defined root, no clear goals.
A restful period of restless morrow,
Thoughts lost in a tired gaze,
Autumn comes with the secession of heat,
Winter dwells and grasps at ones feet.
The time to sleep and rest comes along,
But the mind is chaotic and feels all wrong.
Certainty in presence but not in the future,
Paralysis in action but not in the past.
Acting, willing, thinking and judging,
But still no certainty in this freedom be willing.
The freedom I have, pure and true,
A condemnation in its potency,
Options full, time few.
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