What is this compelling force within a paragraph that awakens me at night,
originating from the depths of my soul, summoning my pen to write?
With blind and reckless anticipation, I rush toward eternity's end in search of higher plateaus,
carrying the world on my shoulders and my heart on my sleeve, battling a feeling within me that grows.
I travel down a discerned path, driven by God, racing against the hands of time,
hand in hand with the prophets, soaring through the heavens, lost within my own mind.
Perhaps some day I'll know its purpose and the source from which it came;
Am I one of the chosen ones, blessed by God or the object of derision within a wicked game?