The Illusion of I
Beset by boredom of mind I ponder the
illusion of I
Conceptually I doesn't exist but this fact
is hidden from eyes
I is an illusion of minds similar to lakes
in a desert
A mirage comes in the form of delusions
of a self never measured
One with all in which we are measured if it
weren't for I in the middle
We unconsciously took on this persona
now we find ourselves in a riddle
I isn't the center of things but it finds itself
at the core
Who planted this apple of eyes inside our
minds corridor?
Closer than one's paramour it elicits secrets
to hide
In reality it's illicit by nature but we go
along for the ride
Next time I comes around ask from where
it has come
If you stop to study its acts you'll see an
enemy of one
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