A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.

PATHWAY

It never was
The mere computation
Of cold probability,
Only for the seeing,
But sparks of fire,
Exploding,
Above a sea
Of volatile tears,
Feeling their way
Into being,
Countless years
Of new tomorrows,
Baby steps of desire,
Confounded,
By the tripwire of morality.
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