In my qualms of finishing this comprehensive labor, I ask the mind to not astray.

For a cognitive wanderer will find war in the lands of the unknown

A slave, trapped in a superficial limbo of mental anguish.

Not a thought, but rather a presence of an evil entity. 

A siren that chants a song of distraction.

A song that comforts my confusion.

Adhere only to the tune of the progressive ethos

The divine, the cosmic mother of our creativity

For she, our guide will illuminate the pathway of our artistic salvation

To find the strength for the marathon

To create, the divine must lend us the language

A language only spoken through the creation of our art.

For the artist must only speak to the chant of the divine.

Idle, for it is my enemy.

Give me strength for the litigation

I shall not be taken by my disingenuous effort

For the true labor is an elongated reward, not an immediate satisfaction.

My invocation is that of true effort, for in this I shall find my divine art.

Veni, Vidi, scripsit ! (I came, I saw, I wrote!)