All my need

The Leaves on the ground, the early dawn, the cold touch of skin

All those things are to me

The sympathy for the fallen, the madness through pulse, swirling observations

All those things are to me

If not for those facts, all would fall apart

Spiraling, oppositions relations to my eyes

How can all of this be ?

If not my ego, all ceases to be

I, determines my importance