From skies unframed
to a knothole to peep
From doors opening horizons
to portraits of stunted dreams
From tall elms, cedars timeless,
to shrubs crawling for existence
Putting a rudder on gale,
taming a tempest in a teacup
Culling the ultimate
at the altar of intention
For the puny ambitions
that need no fulfilling even
A suicide is not always
by hanging off a rope
But more often complete
by giving up on life
giving in to intentions
settling for mediocre.
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