Works Of Contemplation

Behold the vagaries of men!                     Converts seamlessly achieved by seasons Bides their time as an eagle its prey by reason No plausible cause for them to be given unto nature Thus taking the edge and defiance unto nurture         The calm seas harbour a beastly weapon                    Stirred to action, only a tectonic shift in foundation. Such are humans. Outer tranquil verily masks inner turmoil, but few do alter path.

That, which we most require is lost on us, precisely when in need. Be it words for an essay, couplet for a proposal, sporting gear for a try-out, we are worked to chase them incessantly, some sooner in acquisition and some when time partially abides by and even some, never at all. It is always said, “The means determine the ends”. So, I ask, is the end which concerns most? I am afraid not. The means do. I am in pursuit of always some fact or fiction, since my inception. The first day, what I need is what none will ever understand, and hence, believe theirs over time, through attrition and joy. Five years further, I gain a sapling yet mine moulders don’t. I am, then, in pursuit of objects of awe, that which I will lose 10 years down. 5 more, and I am, age-entailing fantasies .10 years further, responsibility descends on me, and I am, sustenance, not merely of me. 10 further, and I am in pursuit of contentment, and in even 10, a gradual settle into excused resignation. Over three score