Born Adventurers

I've heard that we are born scientists.

With an innate and discerning curiosity for the world.

I've heard we are born artists,

whose dreams reach far into the unknown.

What about the born adventurers?

Those whose sense of curiosity and dreaming

launch them so far,

that the body has no choice but to follow.

We cannot be one with anything

but the slow progression of our travel. 

We see the world as a sphere of possibilities,

incorruptible, yet so very fragile.

Fear is merely a door into which we must pass 

to understand the real beauty of a moment.

Fear reinforces our courage, makes us stronger.

It possesses the moment with such severity,

that in it, our minds are brought to a new level of awakening.

To see life in this way,

with such a sense of oneness and clarity,

is what adventurers crave. 

We are molded into the feeling of wanderlust,

with the smell of thunderstorms,

the rumble of earthquakes,

the touch of early morning sun. 

It's more than the meaning of life style.

It's identity,

a craving,

undying,

and up lifting.

The fulfillment which culminates 

into a new sense of wonderment.

Veni, Vidi, Vici.

 

Marble

Life,

Up to this point

Had been a constant struggle

Of what I dreamed to become

And what I became.

But along this path

The dismal earthquake,

Of my reality

Brought out the slow temporal beauty of all my deep dreams.

Reality is tricky

It's beauty is abrasive,

It's light in nighttime cities,

And oceans from home.

Dreams are elusive,

It's seeing the potential of things,

And watching the wonder of your choices unravel before you.

Is there nothing more beautiful,

than fighting the hate of your reality,

Only to witness the slow grace of your dreams unfold?

The real test is taking advantage of the blessings of a lifetime of dreaming,

Not trampling your choices underfoot,

And becoming what you always imagined you'd be.

Jewel of Indonesia.

These glimmering lights,

So new. 

Everything is new, 

I want the skyscrapers

And the walking populous.

The lion city,

The jewel of Indonesia.

So jagged,

So hungry for more.

I've seen the women of little India

And felt the brush of fine Chinese silk. 

The American dream persists. 

It becomes something finer,

And yet I hate it. 

It is me

Or perhaps the sign in between.

Am I elated because of my freedom, 

Or because the beauty of this jungle 

Takes my breath away?

Tell me,

Where do the lights and glamour end, 

And the history of this country begin?

Where does it stop being an American dream?

And start becoming a symbol of human dreaming?