I'MproveMEnt

I mellow earth searching for lost wonders.
Hopes I’d dream revolutionized.
Or things yet to become unfounded slanted by sight.
Shattered by small scars,
The window of improvement illuminates normality restored.
The wind cold.
The days old.
The mood uncertain.
And the present ignored by unfathomable thoughts of inspection.
I rose.
I fell.
I descend.
I levitate onward.
But the idea remains.
Constant.
Unwavering.
Fickle.
Unremitting.
Wavering in status.
Merely do I speak of weakness?
As I default and own my convictions of decadence.