You may awaken from a dream
Only to find
That your former life was all in your mind,
Or that the last book you read
Was really an excerpt from your memories
That you had forgotten.
It may just strike you, one day,
That everything you thought was real
Is merely a by-product of how you feel.
Everything that you think you know
Is still a mystery to somebody.
The rhythm is random,
Patterns may not follow themselves,
And so we must try to follow ourselves.
I’m not even sure if this makes any sense,
But I bet I can guess why you are so tense:
You’re trying to find meaning and structure
In something that exists.
Just let it be.