i can not contemplate these things, myself as i am, love the beginning middle and end, the games that are played. what truth is enbedded in it's wonder, it's hopes and dreams.

my mind is on the break of insanity, all sane acknowledgement is fading and i am yet again alone to wonder what truth do we whisper, if it is made up of deceit.

my wonder, age has not made me wise, wisdom does not come with age, misakes are far few and in between, i can walk down this path again and again and yet my dreams, my mirrors image and guidens does not see into the furture.

i can not contemplate this thing called truth, who speak this words, who beleives in it, and what wondering soul catches a glance of by chance, my foolish friend, who is it that wonders in it.