There, in the emptiness of thought,
Lies the death of yesterday.
Seldom do I peruse my thoughts
To find where the hidden lies.
Place not this idea which lasts
Until there is no other way to think.
I am but the grip that holds me
When I am but not myself.
Though I fall and try to grasp
At an invisible railing my mind sees.
But fall I must, for that is why I'm a fool,
Who yesterday knew myself, today not.
well said, compelling read
Never Stop Writing!
m