Why I Write

There seems to be no pattern for the way life goes on.

There is no perfect forever fit

or no ever lasting love.

The things we see

and the things we know

will eventually become unrecognizable.

But the thoughts of our indivivual consciences

Force us to think about how we should shape the world

or how to look at the world from the inside.

I strive to do, to make, to help, to learn

even when all is in vain

never to be truely permanent.

So although the love I have to branch out to others shapes my world,

my thoughts are selfish

because at the end of the consciousness,

it only wants to justify the rightness of it's own thoughts.