He swears he's gonna do it-
he'll finish those ideas,
vowing he'll feel complete
at the time
when his end nears

He chases
all that populates
the materials on his desk,
circling in a cycle
that complicates the mess

He has intentions
for inventions
somewhere deep within,
or that is what he claims
so adventures can begin

A fascination
to forge mountains
stole his view
of what's below,
too blind to see the ocean,
too high to see it snow

He barters with his artistry
to extract
what may be there,
robbing his own vaults
for riches he can bear

Driven as he veers
and plunges without pause,
not yielding as he's yelling
at his talent
and his flaws

He'll say he knows
what he's doing,
and fully in control,
when really he is falling,
as his weakness
eats him whole

The descent he takes is brutal
seeing the faces
that he hurt,
sailing through the clouds
of concepts
he couldn't convert

Then right before he crashes
he wakes
from where he went-
an abyss of possibilities
he prays more days
are spent