One circle composes life
But what is inside or on its edges
Is a completely new sensation-
that is the dichotomy of it all;
General stillness of everything
And ever changing situation
Always in motion
Always something or someone else
Prison of freedom

So many paths walked by others
Yet one path of life always short of
Right answers, if there even are any

What others think right
Only necessary to survive
Where some seem to thrive
Is to us a loosing fight
Everything being only endless
River of confusion and doubt

Edges are still nowhere to be seen;
Only in wild hallucinations they appear
To us, the end of ourselves-
There we are dead until we
Put a foot on that place
On that state of mind

Partly as animals we only live
Unable to comprehend why
Partly as humans we try to find
A reason
However, blinded by the notion
Of purpose we forget to ask
The simplest of questions-
Is there any final destination
For this incomprehensible life?

And if the answer is negative
There is nothing to be found.

Maybe that is the case
And our existence bounds us
To find purpose of our own:
to melt the general life
In the seas of originality,
To widen our edges,
To deepen our insides,
To increase our separation,
Embrace the Solitude
Of our souls
(So the humility could bloom)
To become truly ourselves
And not just the generals.

Only memory is pretty
What is left is only ash
Eternal darkness
Burning sawdust...