Make then Think


Mind in a state of restlessness,

Turning gears, turning gears,

Tick tocking the late long seconds,

Only abstract thought is known,

The ideas get dragged in a desperate search for something,

For anything, for purpose,

But scribbled dribble is all that shows,

Persist, may he who knows nothing,

For he who knows all quits once all is known,

While he who knows nothing knows there is always more to be known,

Plastic is the gateway to the virtual,

Reality, the grand illusion, rests across a screen,

Typing away,

Typing a way out,

Away and out of the enclosed quarters of a confined mind,

The hidden gems lay beneath the mess,

Cast out all that is and bond only with what you want,

And thus what remain be truth,

And thus something remain,