Where do the many thoughts end?
Is there such a state of being as mono for the human mind?
Singularity has passed, still some on their way
to find nothing tread with ambition
to discover another freezing day?
When from chaos is risen
the ash of your sombre wishes
to chaos will the seed grow
in your arid back garden.
The tree of life.
Born from the ruins of a planet.
In outer space my life and mind wanders,
to reason and logic
these words resemble.
Daunting pictures of me
falling and crashing from that only tree
floating in the ocean of dark matter
once the rest has perished.
Terrorized by chaos
and eager to turn to chaos still,
such is life
or such is the pain of psychology.
It is an affliction, a terrible condition.
Though branches are many of philosophy
each is still a branch.
This canopy which gives us shade by the river
so we may drink that elixir of immortal life,
exists not for this withering self,
for we are temporary
but for the lyric of the lute which is eternal.
No comments:
Post a Comment