Striding through thoughts, I reach the brink
I hold the reins, yet I overthink.
Bogged down feeling hollow and futile,
I smile to myself, “It will take a while.”
A while to settle in, a while to compose, or
Perhaps a while to cast aside, I suppose.
The intoxication of solace, the solace in perception,
Of tasting a few drops from the limitless ocean.
I do not seek profusion, nor do I seek to be drenched
I only seek a pinch of paradise, for my soul not to be spent.