The uneducated poet whose words describe before you. Poetry? Phsyco scribbles? Which is what? Is it the mere thoughts of the perpetually pained? Joy of the joyless? The sights of the visualist, or the tortured soul silently screaming from within gazing through opened wounds that never seem to heal. Or is it the Lost imagination of a child who forgot to grow up? Pain and suffering seeing the bearing the greatest I have to cite or maybe it's the pain that see the beauty in its expression. The philosopher who knows nothing of philosophy the poet who knows not to spell knows nothing meaning with the feeling the flow. May death bring closure to this absurd fantasy? May the organized religions crumble to dust may we all be as meant to be free. For us to view in our own unique perception. Each formation separately viewed distinctively my perception in yours. Oneview one God for strength scripture since birth he programmed belief. By the time it's all over we realize we were bored in the vast destruction occupied site of the cloud. So much wasted time time we should have spent acknowledging on our owncloud our own changing vision our belonging to self.