Sometimes I hear a whistle blow. It rings hollow.

I am sure.
Though I have not seen,
I see.

Little pinpricks of truth,
cascade,
up into a lights abyss.
Of nothingness,
Of all.

The dichotomy of _________ and __________
Does not touch upon
the heart of human nature.

I am not what I see,
I am me,
I can now see.

Sifted through the mind
of a wanderer,
a hue
myn.

We are all born here,
in confusion,
in brokenness.