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.