All that is constructed is doomed to destruction.
Whether fated to be the destroyed or the destroyer,
The rewards or curses of our designs prompt us to blunder unto a cursed path.
A way, which, one is condemned to for the rest of their existence.
An existence not chosen by inevitable events,
But conscious decisions.
Decisions to love, hate, or to simply feel.
Emotions, fickle things, much like the squalls:
Gusting and dragging our sails onto common ways.
One might pronounce that a lack is a right not a wrong.
Whereas traveling the paths of others seems to hold merit,
This merit which deceptively displays even surfaces, while its true malicious and tempestuous nature lurks from only around the bend.
Your path is winding and undefined.
Beware the winds.