What would you say, if I told you that
the horses of my aspirations come trundling down
at me, where I am in an action to decorticate
before they hold me liable for their denial?
I am tempted to believe in Unicorns, even if
I am tethered in the sobriety of sensitive dispassion.
Was I ever wrong to believe in recklessness, to
establish my own decorousness, or was I, in sublimating like
a dying fire, crackling haplessly to a false decorum?!
Does this mean I am deposed? Or do I remain
discrete from the machinations to rein me in;
impervious of the manslaughter, and continue to
exercise my discretion? You must know, that a
wildhorse that is forcibly domesticated has the
ultimate destinative right, as a victim would over the villainous
victor on the 22nd day. You can also see the signs of failure
of civilisations if you are discerning, before they actually fall.
Lawmakers are often more short-sighted than an intelligentsia
that is silent in its astuteness, enabling destiny to be the only
Judgement Card. But I feel prone to exercise a right, even
if divinity wants to still me, because of the angst over subversion
versus usurpation, evil versus righteous . Am I tepid if I sit
in the backseat? Or am I graceful for restraint? Do I admit to
my decrepitude, and feel for my poor aching legs and knees
in their enervation? Or should I keep volleying across the court,
like an ever-angry soul? Do zebras ever tire in their unbound
untamed wildness?! And does destiny exercise its own ultimate righteousness?
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