“…knowledge of the beginning and the end, and of that all-pervading Reason which orders the universe in its determinate cycles to the end of time"
- Marcus Aurelius's definition of the sage

*I’m starting to think poets are bleeding ink
Longing for true understanding, an oath on the stand
Mentally sinking in quicksand, trials never finish
Fear of diminishing quicker than our escape plan

Seeking wisdom in time for our demise,
and as we're writing our words, our fears are in disguise
Intricate word-weaving, we’re prisoners of the moment,
spilling ink on the paper and anxious for our atonement

The dream of a dreamer’s quick to take him places
A limbo of the unknown, and filled with many faces
Endless deliberation with the jury of the mind
Furious and made in a hurry, truly “one of a kind”

But truthfully one of many, and so it’s up to you
Live an Epicurus life, happiness is a truth
Patient examination of nature is natural
A masterful snap of the mental camera is factual

The sage’s knowledge of reason is unilateral
Theory of forms and as Plato had put it
It’s reason you see before you that offers spatial relationships
Properties seeming apparent - hope you relate to this

Believe nothing you hear and half of what you see
Our fears are found in the lines written by you and me
So keep the words coming, never stop pursuing wisdom
Enlightenment of the soul towards a new beginning.