The secrets we keep for the things that we seek, The paths that we choose for no purpose it seems.

Sometimes we are calculated sometimes we are blind, Yet our actions keep driving for an end out of sight.

Feigned disinterests and cryptic professions, Expressions of shock - whether they be real or not. Attempts at appearances we struggle not to unravel. So far away so might we live for today?

Yet today it is hollow and now, it has past Dreams and visions or just mere impressions. No evidnce but example, no reasoning but our own. Innocently carrying on for it is innocent, is it not?

Passing of moments for they matter notIs not life but few hallmarks and fluff all the rest? Conscious or sub the mind carries onRegardless of the body or worldly designs.