No, there are no eyes that see in this poem.
Sight is the square root of a possibility.
Truth? No, words aren't able to indicate it,
Truth is the manifestation of all existing things,
and there's no illusion which isn't just a concept.
Look at the border which separates
the air and the skin
and, after, answer me:
where does one finish and the other start?
Welcome to the anguish of form,
nonexistent reader!
Wonders are all below the form.
Content is a form inside a form,
and this will never have an end.
I'm sorry for that.
What should happen if there weren't signs
to distract the mind in those useless days,
repeated like some law in the court of the brain?
(judgement is almost the only function of mind.
an even create is to judge)
Do you think that mere emotion can save us?
And if I tell you that emotion is reaction?
Emotion is born of copulation
between memory and expectation.
Outside of them, it just is not.
Consider the verb to be an unformulated question.
Dont't we want to be free?
Throw away all the signifying instinct,
person of little faith!
Free will is the same as an unformulated question.
It is not in any form be.
And because you want it.
(Pay attention: suicide is a form of being.
So, it's not an answer).
By the way, where do I finish
and where do you start?
The answer to this one
is the nickname
of Love.
