crazy dreams lead

the imp of the perverse

where it is told not to inhabit,

caught between the ideal

the desired

and the accepted,

fearful and unsure

it is confused

which truth to believe,

choices leading down

a dark path to happiness

or a bright slope into regret,

pushed by cosmic forces

to walk the course of possibility

pulled by societal urges

to coast the hill of promises,

dizzy from the

vertigo of tension

the imp spins circles

but never loses the focal point,

the point of possibility

the point of desire

the point at the end

of the path not suggested,

loudly the other voice

subjects it

disdains it

names it unholy,

with an uncompromising purity

the point of possibility

lets itself be known,

not needing trickery

nor judgemental opinion

surviving on truth,

a peaceful assertion

not requiring a battle axe

to prove its valor,

with its purity of heart

untarnished by expectations

promise conquers tainted pressures.