Contentment swirls inside, contemplating,
Not wanting to show itself.
Is it truly afraid of pain
Or blinding, precise illumination?

Hope reaches, with tendrils outstretched
Seeking but not yet finding
Close, narrowing on the target of its ambition
But vanity stands in its way, stalwart, blocking the most fertile branches

The purple curtains cannot be drawn back
Until pride yields; yet how can it,
When for so long it has been the only defense
Against the forces of chaos that destroy souls?

Too much fear, always the fear
Why does the social carry such gravitas?
Why is even academia, home, so treacherous?
A precipice of failure, luring in the unsuspecting.

And why is the mundane so powerfully enticing?
On the verge of a great transformation,
Darkness keeps its distance but elation continues its evasion
Security suffocates and binds even as it guards.