Who am I?
Well,
I'm an anthropologist.
One,
that studies that in which exist as human.
One,
that attempts to comprehend the simplicity of a species he indeed is connected to.
One,
the seeks complexity as to formulate truth.
I am a philosopher.
One,
tethered to the seeking of wisdom.
To that in which one shall never forget.
To that in which shall always exist.
For,
to exist such as this is to have insight deeply tethered to the mind one shall forever deem as,
present.
I am a poet.
For,
my words rush like waves untethered to a single way in which such a wave shall attempt to behave.
For,
I am a slave.
A slave to such an existence.
A mind being pushed to create each sentence each line.
As,
the simplicity of my existence brings complexity to light.
I am simply a mind that writes.
I'm time.
Mine.
Always mine.
Always tethered deeply to this mind I've inscribed the forever asking question,
why?
Time undefined,
unable to be comprehended.
Unable to be a thing in which I step into with full acceptance.
For,
to exist as time,
is to always be present.
To exist tethered to the simplicity of now.
To accept absolutely nothing,
but,
everything.
To see nowhere,
and everywhere.
To be,
of course and,
not to be.
I am the mind.
Thought.
A simplistic spark.
I am art.
Art that follows the eye.
That looks through deeply as to comprehend life.
I am only I.
But,
most of all,
I am nothing.
I am nobody.
Nor,
shall I ever be,
in time.
©lamarcus12
L