Seekers' thoughts

The confusion, the anger rages deep. 

And as I feel it rising to the brim 

I envision, plan, and refuse to weep. 

I pray that this isn’t merely a whim. 

I stand at the precipice – fly or fall. 

Or can I turn and leave, back to comfort? 

The thought crushes me, not meeting the call. 

How can I turn on my heels, run-for-it? 

This is the price for knowledge, my young friend. 

A treasure requires excavation.  

Gold must then be polished – it’s not the end. 

Worry? It promises gratification. 

What choice do I have? Life’s a death sentence. 

Fly to Sun, die shining in elegance. 

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A sonnet I wrote a while ago. Doesn’t let me separate the paragraphs properly, which is annoying, but oh well.

Something must have annoyed me at the time.