My identity is in question;
for as long I am to sit.
And; long will I sit.
Not a single murmur.
Just as I wish.
Nothing more, not a thing less.

I provoke answers.
And, **** for them fearfully.
I question; why?
Empathy or compassion?
Acceptance over judgment?
Turbulent or assertive?
What is correct in the end of all things?

Conscious.
Bountiful.
Polarizing.
Silence.
The answers are clear.
The practice is destructive.

Will I ascend?
Or, I may never awaken.
Maybe no one is there.
Am I?

Pick up and trek on.
Spiraling in this loop downward.
Angst; feeding upon ego.
With only two eyes to mourn.
This identity is to forsake.
Peace be but a dream.
Long will I sit.