• So Little Do We Know, Less Do We Understand

    Life is someone else’s daydream, in which we are all figments,
    Passing thoughts in a mind we dare not hope to understand,
    For so many have tried, grasping numbly at ethereal sentience,
    At the universal truth, drawing back but an empty hand.

    Patiently we wait, hoping this daydream will come to clarity,
    Wait for the fog to lift and the haze to clear from our heads.
    We wait for a glimpse at the face of the immortal singularity,
    But in our lives will lift but the veil’s merest tattered threads.

    Without these threads, the veil and the face are nothing, nor are we.
    Behind the nothing, within the emptiness, there remains only the void.
    Deeper fear of what we don’t understand than of what we cannot see.
    Fears gently shattering the doubtful certainties of the sensible paranoid.