Fragment Written Seven Years Ago

And what a fool am I to see, the dying of the light in breath that shimmers on the cold dusk air.

A recollection of broken promises and failed hopes, that fuel my pallid despair.

And yet the coals of my ambition, do spark and radiate a creative anger, full of lustful hunger.

Potential is the wrath of hope, through my veins it rages against the tyranny of unfulfilled good intentions.

Why must I be so large in scope, a Titan trussed in a fleshy cage, so small and cramped.

Its torturous confines seem crueler than any other form of imprisonment, the true deprivation of scope.

Let me find the key, that springs the lock upon my coursing dreams, to swing the gates and let fly this torrent of bridled ambitions.

For take what you will, my dreams are all I posses and their abundance knows no bounds.