Nestled in Grotto
Although the cadence of the stars grants my way:
When I fall, I am beaten to wallow; it was often times physical.
The only solution in reciprocal is to remain neutrally distilled, distanced from the despicable.
Don't let the buoyancy displace or to overflow; don't let the well become eternally null.
Using your instincts to shore up and hold; dowsing for raindrops, fruiting nature's own mould.
When you continue the work, and you find yourself in a faltering irk, one begins to crave revelrous posture.
Hold what you can carry, and carry what you hold, for the reigns of the shepherd are guided by the wolf.
We will never reveal, those notions so real, of spirited fields and reinventing of wheels.
Internalized triumph in a glittering haze, so caged up in subjectivity as to never be gazed.
To avert your intrinsics in submission to culture; the temptress of comparison displacing revelry with torture.
I know my worth like a geode nestled in grotto, the sprinkling leaking flow one day bringing the butterfly out from the caterpillar’s woes.