I often stroll around this place just to poke around and see if anything worthwhile piques my interests. Truth be told, I rarely spot anything that really rouses me to full attention. I often just scrape by glancing over the text absorbing whatever conscientious writer leave imprinted across the page. I look complacently, scrolling flicking pages here to there. My efforts return futile rewards as nothing seems to fulfill my insatiable capacity for thirst. A quench that is impossibly defaced in the face of some many trivial and abject articles. To my understanding, it heeds boredom off the trail where I succor to boil my veins amidst all the passages of clever and humorous bits of lines.
I search for poetry among the lines. I search to feel something that yields a bit off the obvious tract. My mainstay is not where things are fanciful illustrated with giddy-ness and fissures of bursting sentiments.
While the worthwhile case imposes upon my senses I trace the corridors far.
Lead me there, with a trail of a song that could lift my spirits off my bosom.
And why do classic literature always seems to speak of things risen from the bosom? How hearty must the have been during those days. I can not imagine.