Where one starts something, but ends with many or no things,
The process is the envelope and the for title one is told anything;
No one has a clue. “It is evolutionary,”
Was the reply all got for nothing,
Even evolving.
Pending everything and life for reasons that do not fit minds,
Telling factious stories and feeding one's belly with garbage,
And claiming oneself as if one had the key to the universe.
Living in a dream world, starting and finishing everything with a dot
While the unknown becomes unknown until the end.
The moment it becomes known, it stops becoming the unknown.
Why would one prefer to know the unknown? For it is unknown.
Unless it is a palm, known stuff- which may be idol of the self.
One goes on living a life that one has no clue about,
And going in the directions that convention dictates,
And claiming that one has the right path, for right exists nowhere,
And telling others that one has the clue- in a world where clues can be blurred.
« return.