This world occurs to me through perception.
All I suffer authored by its pen.
I will accept my role in conception.
And also from my parents way back then.
This muddled world of mine seems real to me.
Solid as rock, hard as a diamond.
And yet looking once more could set me free.
Discovering there is more than one pond.
Meditation could suspend how it is.
As thoughts and feelings emerge from the mist
And we see the work of the mind as his.
A rule set in the form of a list.
I will wriggle from this intervention.
Much more preferring my own invention.
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