Another day of unreality,
What appears, this now long beginning, how long?
Is my desire this road, continuing on or merely contemplating it?
Either sets me in a seemingly and frail world.
I find myself here in thought, lining up words,
Creating, it seems, something of them, of their own fragility.
They reflect my own unsteadiness, a sort of unraveling.
Rather an unrelated undoing accomplished prior to my presence.
Am I left to choose and to choose what? Is it for me?
Others have come this way. Perhaps all who love will take this road.
But the road has a non-existing quality. Is it really there?
What, now left alone, on an apparent road where all merely appears to be?