unicorns

The growing idealist collected
unicorns.

it wasn’t meant to be a sense of
conformity,
and certainly, who really yearns to
differentiate oneself from the flock?

but the seas of pouring stallions
reverberating over the waves,
under the viciously lonely eyes
of a monger,
brought the flood that likely enters
those who choose a celibate devotion
to the high and mighty.

but the potential place in history,
as the keeper.
the one who forged through the barriers
that mystique and mistake place
he who would caulk our records
with the new entries dreamed about
by the lost souls of the middle years.

it wasn’t meant to solve these life lessons,
and objectively,
little real thought ever went into what processes
would ever find their way into implementation.

but the shelves lined themselves just as
the edging trim paper encircled the walls,
and the reflections in thoughts
became the manner for existence.

the growing idealist collected
unicorns.

it didn’t matter what some said
of the impossibility.
it was the smidgen. the dying,
desolate,
dreary,
and droll attempt at defining
the small chance.

it could be,
dormant, under the brush,
in the farthest reaches,
unrealized to those who carried on other business,
concealed not only to our eyes but also to our minds,
the mere feasibility astounded.

the growing idealist collects
unicorns, of sorts.

this world needs the whole herd
to rove this kingdom
of glorious possibilities.