Unbound

To live by time seems impossibe and each stretched moment a noble pursuit. Yet, when we record by the strokes of the line, it is in one that we can encompass, and belittled in all we'd forgot.

And though at a leisurely pace, trodden paths seem not to have progressed, as though stilled in voyage, an immortality bent in our failure to resign. And as each collapsing ride hails from a stunted rise, yet unmounted, each steed shall stand alone.

In portrayal of a mustered zeal, glazed and indistinct, a wish of the seer rises into the dust that she walks upon, a fellow amongst the wiles.

Strike.