Oil Wells

When I sensed the loss of a purpose;
my mind grows weaker.
It retracts from the intensity of a passion!
A renewal of my greater misfortune?
A promise from myself:
that the chains I broke were there only as I imagined.
It was not the chains holding me back,
the tracks of footprints.
Soil beneath.
It is not the material I search for.
It is in every moment.
The changes that I mistake for chance.
This I thought of a common sense in history.
I have not lost my common sense for script writing,
or my common sense for such knowledge in my activities
of performing logic.