The Only Source of Fulfillment

My life devoid of exotic adventure (in fact...yours truly never set foot outside the United States, nor took to the skies, yes...how bore) ring, the solitary endeavors, not an onerous unbearable chore, although (as mentioned in a previous poem) this fellow rarely exits apartment door, (particularly during biting cold), fabulous grandeur tis mine to explore thru (healthy escape) by way of imagination fourscore minus ten orbits completed round the sun, and tapping mind bending places galore envisioning how a blind person - nonetheless lamentable and heartsore (more so since birth, this pupil doth ignore versus tragedy eye will not site here), no limitation to where this loner can soar, which appears contradictory to previous disclosures, yet revisiting said notion, sans feeling tour charred asper meaninglessness, a spore germinated evincing clearly reassure ring mine psyche, those select modes engaging body, mind, and spirit for instance exercise, reading/ writing, and meditation with deliberation yours truly doth pour, the entire heart and soul of Matthew Scott Harris to shore up sagging sullenness, yet though disheartened at squelching interpersonal/social, mental, and physical parabolic contour of healthy development, this fellow wishes he did more class participation, dating, fostering friendships/relationships such ordinary human development that did war rant raving about prior disappointment, the decor ration accrued, via strengthening muscles at core of happiness from this sojourner for truth...bonjour!