I drank the crescent moon
As a glass of fresh wine which
was never served to the regal.
A plight took place in the plain night,
Inside my mind,
I pictured it,
Allowed it to govern my actions.
I stuffed my ordeals
in a sack of archives I never wish
to see again;
thought of even eloping into the wilderness,
What shall I name a desire such like this?
A hermit's commitment?
No, a solivagant's pastime.
I let that sink in.
So, while the fawning moon
that razed between meadows
and valleys lured me against
the earthly gravity,
My feets walked together.
The oscillation was eerie,
didn't had any idea where it was taking me,
I let my membranes overpower my grey matter at that time.
For me, at that point,
Time was a stopwatch whose every second agitated me.
The fatal rattle of tick tocks
gave me the curse of Ondine.
At a distant, I saw a road,
convincing me to push my luck and hit it.
Erupting a vision that
like every other trailblazer's magic compass,
I was stationed to an unknown wonderland.
A solivagant's pastime?
I thought again.
And it was somewhere correct according to talks of the known faces across me.
The known faces asked me to be more of a practical guinea pig,
The thing I actually never wanted to be.
Still on the crossroads of my mental duality.
I simply let the other side
live through me at this night.
Because I don't know,
Loose thoughts like this,
These solivagant's pastime offered me more answers to the question
that could have never been answered
If I lived as a human monument
that counted penny as a tool for high standard.
I could rise high to the pride,
Any levels of personal lionization
But it would still be a facade.
Because as I said,
If I had a fair chance to live
through the farcical reality of a solivagant,
Life won't have been a time bomb for me.