Motionality

If I could but reach a little bit further, the Baltic winds, the Irish Sea, not even the Atlantic could my need for misgivings divide. What a sin to be whole! Let no thing restore my soul, not swells of madness, nor gladness proliferating in form of second chances, marching to and fro for reverence of the return. Let not my feet ingratiate the hums beneath the home-lit flooring, after peaking Tetnuldi, or even Cairn Gorm. Because what is peace but the absence of being driven? Let sleep be my portion of that place! And let life in motion be its own recompense.