Your World

I prefer the path of a disoriented compass than the inevitability of your straight line between A and B. For where I start and where I end will be the same, but my path for my sake I shall amend. The space between is where I’ll be, but don’t look for me for it’ll be too far for your eyes to see. I’m not too arrogant to proclaim that I’ll end up somewhere with high acclaim. For I concede I’ll surely be dead, just as dead as you’ll be.

To see the forests and deserts and oh how can it be, to allow yourself back into complacency? How can it be that a man from propriety allows such idioticy? To not feed the seed inside of him but accept what is laid out in front of him. Even the youngest of men can see this path to folly. So I’ll gab my compass and accept where it might take me. From Azerbaijan to Bali, the mountains, and the seas.