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Progress Subject, what is the matter.
The course changes again,
a living maze reconstructing,
transmuting, changing with altitude.
Differing opinions, perceptions
morphing others.
Higher still till trapped in air.
For you only wake in dreams.
One has the reach the stars,
and seek beyond still.
Verticals are also,
yet its pain to breathe easy.
I am the breathe taking sort.
Their is to much wounder
to be compassing.
Too Much Wonder
Encompassed
by too much
pain without
the breathing,
rising beyond
where there
is air.
.
Addicted to
inhalation,
partial to push
out sequences,
no matter the
plane, the angle,
depth perception
is just that.
Deep.
.
~S~
.
The wonders that exist
The wonders that exist eternal.
Especially the ones that you didn't notice in time