Somewhere in the middle.

It starts with a young lad and a four-track recording device.
Sitting in his basement screaming out at a life he's only yet embarked on.
It progresses to a young man standing atop a stage overlooking fifteen people who are still seated. Only three of which came for him. Yet these are not me. These are what is necessary and we're too afraid of.

Incessently sitting in routine, kicking around thoughts of opportunity has left me trailing my dream lengthwise. It is overly demeaning to my grasp on reality to find obligation in order to live. It cannot always have to be this way. To forge opportunity out of the soil and spark still leave utter reflections of what heaven may deem itself to be. Yet how can one surmount the affliction of seeming inopportunity to come into that which was never planned and encase it with your own being.

Reading a simple prose from a child giving up on a dream while still yet infantile in her youth broke me to tears in my own terror and fear for this idea i've encircled for years.

It still lives.
It breathes.

Come here it cries, come into this aspect of life you merely tap into once in a hazy moon. You merely taste what you need when your years dwindle, spin and spiral out of control. Take hold! take heed. Utter these words back to yourself as you sit in your imminance. Break free. Come to me.

Help me.

Inspiration sets forth and then departs across the country. Thje flame dwindles, fear takes hold of all those around me and my needs slaughter the rest.

Lets just stop. Please God can't we just stop. This horrid expectancy of limitations. It frustrates me to tears.

Take my hand. Don't guide, don't follow, walk side by side with me into the dark.
Someone. Anyone with a dream still intact or the residue enough to venture for it. Let's go.
away away away away.

we'll return when we've seen it or Zion.
Tell me, is there yet anyone willing?