I can not know why I write

I can not know why I write

I do not ask of a reason

other than;

Is it suchlike a search

With an impulse to divulge?

So I write,

Most probably to expunge any delusional ambition.

The Philosophers Friend.

how can a foot step
feel as cold as an horizon
in winter?
where else can the bill
be presented if not at the dawn of death?
and who will be the clown
in the clown make up?
who will be riding
on the wind of doom?

when if ever does life desist?

What is it to be

The Philosophers Friend?

Albeit too late to predate science.

I come alongside the

Numerologists.

And resting a hand on the substances of nature;

Fibonacci like I equate,

To test the Cosmos.

That therein nothing is consumed, ever.

Therefore in its entirety being only quantum and interchangeable.

We leave our footprint

Unaltered In history.

Indeed all of history

Being that which

devours our present,

Simply adds to the ultimate conclusion.

(c) 2018 Christopher Thompson.

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