A frightened orphan plundering like a greedy treasure-robbing Luxor royal tombs, like you - already a gentle hoarfrost pinched its head into depth and height as you consciously look into it. What spirit, what value, interest compels us every day as experimenting Sisyphus to compete: promotion, firing, the universal and general drivers of our struggle, which is our existence

is it in the micro-cogwheels to consume our bodies, strip our bones lean, and turn the soul into scarecrows of bone and skin, which sends its noble messages to us with the gift of immortality and eternal survival ?! "What can the Infinite, Eternal Damaged Silence teach you?"

Peace has long been sought and then found common wavelengths? And why not repel, tolerate, and cut with one-hearted silence like the striking lightning strikes of the Rock's natural laws, the crackling whiplash? - Just a few happier, and perhaps more independent, decades before finally being a glass foam, a pearl greenhouse

if the sea is mockery - and all their firm, uncertain decisions, and their meaningful countdown to the Unified Everything: Are we well-determined in the fog of unfamiliar situations, while the hourglass of our mortality turns again with every Prometheus birth,

sinking, or tossing the Heureka sparks of our individuality into Adam and Eve's costumes to shine freely, yet without happiness, with happier satisfaction? - Fascinated and tasted among the flowering genera of flowering flowers, honey-rich, nectar-rich nectar for Eternal life - And as a reward, even the eternal burden and Love-hungry, yet selfish and cowardly, for a falling man will be sentient, beating blood from flesh - Like once organized consciousness, it is a particle of cellular biology, and its molecule from the placental shelter, the bladder of bladder, the organic Unfinished and eternal

has become an immortal part! And why is it that by birth, as an organic gift, we have gained Death, yet still struggle daily with the Kharubdis Gap of Uncertain Tomorrow as Sifif ?!

The most welcomed dreams,
they float no matter
what the consensus.

A bit pinched by Oliver Twist
campaigns, maybe,
but they vote for helium.

For to laugh is to shine,
and to shine is to supernova,
yet, still fit inside the head.

The hours, they are
a cascade of melting candles
burning a hole in the floor.

The only words spoken,
"My Very Educated Mother
Just Served Us Nine Pies."

But how can that be?
We're now one short.
Oh, bucolic heavens!

I grew tired of wandering
and returned to reality
in the angry haze of another
orphaned satellite.