Pessimistic Protaganastus Poem by mike ruthenbeck

Poor wretch am I, and woe is my fated
Journey over horizon, long waited.
Current suspension of animation
Manifesting want of exclamation;
Composure automated to the flow
(In basic; maybe not, or maybe so...):
For in order of the problem solving
When conflict, in it's self, is resolving
Anti-thesis of such need to journey
In simple, conversational tourney.
So, having never left, I see the world,
In mind reaching through space, and through time whurled
I go visit Arabian Nights, and
I back pack across European land
Only to find myself in my chair
Wondering neatly without any care;
Snapping back to the most present moment.

Wretch am I, as my only endowment
Is an obtrusive imagination
Which finds only pure and true elation
Not in focus on some menial task,
Not in the smoking, or sips from the flask,
But in journeying into the unknown
To seek proof of the ways I have grown.

Poor wretch am I, that I should have to quest
And be none the wiser than all the rest.