ashes for the fools devil

Do I feel real – no
what do I feel – confusion of what is real and the unknown
the rain falling down and cloudy in my mind thoughts
is it insanity
a quadrillion universes away in infinities, could there be a life for me
in solidities and all knowing, remembering of everything, of everything
are my words ever mine or from the spirit is-be’s gods’.
That is, and they be, this is, and I be as well however insignificant the shallow individual
am I necessary and for what?  Absolutely nothing, disposable as ashes
and sell my dusty ashes to the fools devil.
Who knows they may be white golds gray.

 

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