adventure, of a sort

It is always an adventure that lights my soul with neon fire.
Can't say I've had one in a while.

Oh, what a sorrow thing to say.

I must be frank. There is opportunity, always.

Rather, I find the opportunity more eventful than the moment and then I sink in that idea that adventures only come to those who pray, deeply.

Rah, rah.

This is no way to treat a loving summer.

Perhaps it is the humidity that is churning my head with ideas so vile. Likening these thoughts with actuality.

Neon fire resides within always.

This is not a collected poem; This is a mild rant.

Pardon such absent phrases and words that stick too hard on the page.
I never want to abuse the art form, rather to describe the truth, that to write is to feel and if this is what is pouring forth on the whiteness now, then it must be so.

Oh, I did not know I thought as such. This is news, even to me.

If I pause, I could gather that adventure has been held but moments pass so quickly by these days it seems they get lost rather easily in the midst of all the mind chaos.

So many adventures popping up now, ah, this is more like it!
Happy, happy thoughts that would have been lost, had I not paused and appreciated.

Always a lesson. Always a prayer.

We venture on this quiet road, with nothing but a scribbled plan and we pretend we know the path but we never really are sure.

I get chipper in the dusk when the fireflies come out to play.
Even this, to me, is adventure.