It is a seek.
A hunt for the lost.
Could be the mind,
could be wealth
could be knowledge.

Ever restless and palpitated
I pose composure.
A subdued external
has never given out
what traverses.

The disturbance I experience
places me on a bush of thorns.
I have to plan a work out
disallowing a bruise, a hurt

The negotiations I undertake
suck the blood out of me.
If I had given up, I might have
succeeded but surrender
is not my cup of tea.