There’s a time in a young mans life, when the thirst for a certain passion overtakes his path. Where one abounds the leaf floating in a wind, and sails into the thin cool air. The desire has been building for AGES! Just as the crackhead goes for his dope, the young man longs for the rush. Disputing decisiveness, on a path unknown, to where it leads or how it goes. . .
While again the chances rise. Severely higher than the first. The first hooked on kitty, and not on the lust. The latter, a temptation so warm, lush, and splendid in brilliant blue. Mystic island awaits through the fog, as a young man swings in a hammock after a hard days surf. What for then shall we say? better life? Means to an end? Or general hippie shenanigans. While none is truly unknown, and others are mere crystal ball assumptions, jolts of thoughtical lightning stream through my growing brain. Where the path leads none shall know, but figuring it out once gotten there is choice of wise.