“Why does anything need to exist?” I inquire
In the torment of thinking that life must make sense.
It’s the one biggest question that can be explained.
There’s a mystical logic that must be maintained.
Consciousness is the First Cause and is the thing whence
All else came into being out of its desire.

Cumbersome are such concepts as infinity,
Existence, and eternity to my lost mind.
Time, I know, is illusion, but how can that be
Since my knowing depends on it so completely?
Consciousness can’t take boredom, so it is inclined
To creating diversions in its quest to be.

The Moment is a mental construct to be used
As the platform for reaching the understanding
Of the nature eternal existence commands.
Everything is of spirit, and being demands
Its freedom of expression above everything.
History is a clockwork to keep it amused.

What may seem to be happening as I observe
I can give not The Moment to judge either way
If what is is of essence that I can relate
To my best understanding. The world I create
Is the only one valid on this troubled day.
A break from all ‘reality’ I well deserve.