Felling boundaries of sight and passing the lights wash over the body shed anew,
Drips of old views drop from the perspiring wisdom.
As the momentum of elevating perspective is gained, the walker begins a glide of shifting movement,
toward somewhere that is a place within the place of perpetual motion.
There is not completion, for in wisdoms ways perception is endless.
But there ahead, displaying but glimpses of its form, lies purpose,
Purpose... Like an instrument moulded only for his whole,
Wrapping its veins which hold the warm blood of his own around him, extended from the metamorphic completion of perspective.
When the arrival is both there and beyond,
The walker emits the tune of his internals,
finds that when he walks he shares a melody of the steps before him and after him, as one.
Purpose becomes him and he becomes purpose.
Listen as his song sings to the ear of humanity, listen and pick the notes to fit your tune, in roads to come, in places within places that are your own, connected to everyone and everything.
mF
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