Canvases of pre-existing contemplations repeat.
I ponder with my bowl of mental accusations.
Undetermined.

It?s called being a craven, an innocent coward.
Beige shackles undetermined my growing desires.
They all know, or most do, about my hold out.

I gaze at the temporary that calls my wanting.
I can taste the sugar they share.
A petty illusion I have only leased.
Or instead, I threw it away.

Loneliness is karma, offspring of the sovereign of fire.
It?s always fashionable, always casual.
I wear it around my neck, on my sleeve.

But unless I allocate the mountainous peak,
No one will know I own it.
But I?d rather you recover it first,
Find it before I foolishly lease it, yet again.
Please.