Flowers roam through the long 
Corridors of cognizant sentiment. 
I attempt to grasp them 
As each one slips away 
Like cleansing bars of soap.
The search for happiness
That long blinds mankind,
Is only a false mirror of exigent desires.

Strive
For those with which 
Neither excites nor depresses. 
Strive
For which quietude results. 

The constant path
Of magical mirages.
Walk through its opaque walls. 
And melt into the freeing 
Foreign atmosphere.