Remainings

Don't know how this whole thing came to be. Don't know how it developed. Just realized that due to my philosophy - I'll probably be writing on, unconscious. And skim the pages, fill the vacuums, adopt the newest information like part of my machinery innately. Enter fast into my brains and my vocabulary growing. Processing, if completely unaware, as I reboot; upgrade my hard drive. A never ending circle of supplements and notes. Feeding me analysis and extracting reasoning of sorts. I contribute, I am tested, I am floating through the system with a dim idea of what I'm really undergoing.

"Wishful thinking" - of a future yet unknown
[intended for american english reading]
By Scaramouche, the po(t)et, thinking about all these things I've yet to learn. I fell a tad bit empty these days. Try to express "the little that still remains" through some poetic ramblings. Like so:

We think we've figured out the world already
when in reality we still don't have a clue
I sell my books and open up the shelters
A convoy of the things I thought I knew

I once built up a house of levelled wisdom
But demolition came to shock the poise
Too often I fall into wishful thinking
Can't hear myself defy above this noise

For constant is the murmur of the steady
The powerful galore in equivoque
To shoot the birds, go fetch in far-off places
Sense one fell beaten by a single stroke

We estimate the cultures yet to master
As though it's plain, we view the most obscure
Beyond serene and finite territory
Confronting inconclusive, I'm demure

So when I tell a tale I tell it truthfully
And when I'm told a secret, keep it faithfully
One may believe I do it all the way I should
And that I did it all the very best I could
I wish it wouldn't hurt, and not so much, and not so fast
Never quite so often, wish the pain won't have to last