@IchioI 23 December 2021 edited more from that month

Watching Myself Another day of toil beneath a slate gray sky finds a mind altogether divided, torn between the existentialism of why and the truths evident within self decided Thoughts play out in what is now a comfortable rhythm '*I wonder where the truly free people go to in thought; what is heaven?*' Ones time spent searching a cycle of wonder, regret, insight and delusion. Shades of love and hate binding all in suffusion between two by two by two, often mired in confusion Permeating all thought from sunrise and set hope, fears, and logic beget: A constant struggle of the altruistic and sycophantic shadows of self permeated by both the hierophantic and romantic All notion so temporary; even the best of what we build is extemporary What then are the chances that this is illusion? Each story after all has a forgone conclusion Some say the gift of a life unobserved is onerous and one wonders if the other path, superficial and spurious would consent in the end to the view of the curious? Or- are we all similarly ensnared in the egos opprobrious attempt of the vainglorious? Each day singularly infinite The mind attempting -almost in jest- to intimate what lies between the ephemeral and definite: a stylized self we all in the chase appropriate Harmony by most unrealized not only in the way we die, but in the way we dare each moment frieze'd by times glare Maybe unremembered, but in eternities echo canonized Even the meanest mind defines what is seen though altogether colored by egos sheen But, in the end, is this not the shape of realities gleam That, to what each of us seems is what we deem the Truth