An Intellect Made Circumspect

This weight upon the shoulders, my intellect made circumspect for me, as if these circumstances weren't meant to be. Upended by this melancholy mystery, I now believe more may be set free in the possibilities.

However the end comes, I do not fear the resolution to this convolution. The sole solution for the soul pollution.

​​Oh mortal circle from which I've reaped the rewards within, and banished the murder of beginning, from remembrance of simpler living.

But we friendly fools continue, gazing unto the skies where through a path becoming. Seemingly such clearness, we deny the convenience of cheerful upheaval. The Golden Staircase bestows an ending quite meaningful.

Will I possess the finale's request, or meet an unsuspecting death ? The purpose regressed under mortal duress.