The Only Source of Fulfillment
My life devoid of exotic adventure
(in fact...yours truly
never set foot outside the United States,
nor took to the skies, yes...how bore)
ring, the solitary endeavors,
not an onerous unbearable chore,
although (as mentioned in a previous poem)
this fellow rarely exits apartment door,
(particularly during biting cold),
fabulous grandeur tis mine to explore
thru (healthy escape)
by way of imagination fourscore
minus ten orbits completed
round the sun, and tapping
mind bending places galore
envisioning how a blind person -
nonetheless lamentable and heartsore
(more so since birth, this pupil doth ignore
versus tragedy eye will not site here),
no limitation to where this loner can soar,
which appears contradictory to previous
disclosures, yet revisiting said notion,
sans feeling tour
charred asper meaninglessness, a spore
germinated evincing clearly reassure
ring mine psyche, those select modes
engaging body, mind, and spirit for
instance exercise, reading/
writing, and meditation
with deliberation yours truly doth pour,
the entire heart and soul of
Matthew Scott Harris to shore
up sagging sullenness, yet though disheartened
at squelching interpersonal/social, mental,
and physical parabolic contour
of healthy development,
this fellow wishes he did more
class participation, dating,
fostering friendships/relationships
such ordinary human development that did war
rant raving about prior
disappointment, the decor
ration accrued, via strengthening muscles at core
of happiness from this
sojourner for truth...bonjour!
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