(yet another introspection)
Underneath the shine, on this mountain of pride,
I tumble and dabble, yet still yearn to travel,
into the blue lagoons and across the white heaven.
I tend to contemplate, the leetspeak of Zarathustra and Krishna,
If that is indeed a sure way to live?
If the future was already a past unto itself?
Of the treasures I’d gain, by besting one of our own,
Would they everlast, or if that even matters?