Unaware of the pulse of that intelligence

That we are born from; forgotten over feuds

Walking over futility of creating realities

Consciousness of lesser understanding

Implodes with superficial knowledge

Everyone tries to shape that elusive truth

But all that is there is debris of errors

Throwing away reality in sea of deceit

Only so much we can take from existence

Perceptions weaken through eras

Constant dissent against the soul 

Times spent on myriad distractions

Arguments with life and discord

Pulse of life loses its rhythm

That twisted staircase stares quizzically